From The Ashes
by Leonhard van Euler
Summary: On that dreadful night, Albus Dumbledore is struck down by his friend and fellow staff member, Severus Snape, whilst the Death Eaters watch on in glee and Harry in horror. Seconds after the Curse strikes him, Albus finds himself waking up in the seven year-old body of Harry Potter. Reincarnated as the Boy-Who-Lived he now has to find a way to defeat Voldemort once and for !HP
1. Rebirth

**This idea popped in my head while I was revising for my maths final. Essentially this will be a story about Albus Dumbledore's redemption and him handling all the challenges from Harry's point of view. It will also be about him recognising his past wrongs and him trying to find solace in the fact that magic has given him a second chance to right his wrongs. I will probably only sporadically update this as I have a very busy life (note that this is my first proper post this year) and I am graduating in two months, so along with that, I have to experience all of the 'holy fuck will I get into uni' stress. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this fic.**

 **Warnings: mentions of possible abuse, lots of magical theory, death, references to a lot of shit (see if you can spot the sherlock holmes quote in this chapter), etc. As the story progresses, I shall have to add more warnings.**

 **Story begins in Harry's sixth year atop the astronomy tower of Hogwarts, where Dumbledore is murdered by Snape.**

* * *

"I said no!" shouted the brutal-faced man; there was a flash of light and the werewolf was blasted out of the way; he hit the ramparts and staggered, looking furious. Draco held on to his wand, arm trembling as he focused on his target: but his heart was not in it, if it ever had been.

"Draco, do it, or stand aside so one of us-" screeched the woman, but at that precise moment the door to the ramparts burst open once more and there stood Severus Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene, from Albus, slumped against the wall, to the four Death Eaters including the enraged werewolf, and Malfoy.

Albus felt his body slump in surrender; Severus, too, was aware that it was time for him to die. Nevertheless, Albus felt fear start to creep up his spine. Death. He had always respected death, never feared it. But now in his final moments, Albus became convinced of the fact that only a foolish man would not fear death. That implication of that (and of what he had been all his life up until now, namely: foolish) would have brought a small chuckle and a twinkle of his eyes to his face, had the situation not been so terrifyingly dark.

He could see Harry in his invisibility cloak watching on with bated breath and in horror as the scene before him unfolded. Albus felt sudden guilt that the boy - _no_ \- man, would have to see this; would have to witness the death of his mentor, and dare he say it, friend.

"We've got a problem, Snape," said the lumpy Amycus, whose eyes and wand were fixed alike upon Albus, "the boy doesn't seem able-"

But Albus found suddenly that a word had slipped through his limp lips.

"Severus…." He pleaded. Begging was a foreign concept to him. He didn't ever remember begging for his life, not like this anyway. It was fear of the unknown speaking, of course. And Severus knew it. His cold, dark eyes, flashed with something pleading for a moment or two and all of a sudden, Albus realised how very much this man trusted and respected him.

Severus said nothing, instead, his eyes spoke it all. He walked forwards and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. The three Death Eaters fell back without a word, even the werewolf seemed cowed and Albus was very suddenly reminded of the the power and of the rank that Severus had achieved over the years… all for Lily and her son. For a moment, they stared at each other, communicating unspoken words, unsaid promises, then Severus' arm tensed, as it always did before casting a spell.

"Severus…. please…" He pleaded one last time. They both knew he would be dead within a few months anyway - the curse on the ring had insured as much. His blackening arm would soon yield to the sickness completely and it would spread like a wildfire, ending his life in terrible agony. It was a miracle the potion's master had managed to hold it at bay for as long as he had.

Severus finally raised his wand and pointed it directly at Albus.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light shot from the end of his friend's wand and it hit Albus squarely in the chest. For a moment, Albus felt nothing at all, but then with a sickening single movement, his soul was ripped from his body. He remained in awareness for a few seconds more, watching as the sky above him turned a deep, dark red when someone cast the _dark mark,_ and then finally, he started to fall slowly backwards, like a rag doll, over the battlements and out of sight. He never felt the hard, cold ground when he finally struck it.

.

Regaining awareness after an infinitely long period of immense numbness, so very suddenly was like being dropped in a tank full of ice-cold water in the middle of a deep sleep: jarring. For a moment or two, all Albus could do was gasp for air, like a desperate, drowning man.

After calming down somewhat, Albus noted a few things in quick succession: one, he was in a small sort of enclosure; two, dust permeated the very air causing his breathing to come back ragged and harsh; and three, his body was not his own.

 _Odd_ , he thought, looking down at two unfamiliar set of hands. They were small, perhaps of a five or six year old child… and yet, they looked and felt so weathered as though this body was severely used to hours upon hours of menial labour every single day. The next thing he noted was the poor clothing: the socks had holes in them and the shirt was so unwashed it stank of stale sweat. He also noted that they were muggle clothes.

 _Very odd indeed._

Seeing a crack of light from under one of the walls, Albus concluded that that was the door and gently pushed at it, attempting to get it to open. Nothing happened. Frowning, Albus wondered who in their right mind would ever dare to imprison a small child in this way. Concluding that there was no way out of this but to use magic, Albus reached into his core-

Only not to find one.

For a moment, panic such as he had not felt in a long time surged in him, threatening to throw him into mass hysterics, but then he detected a small wisp of golden light, right at the centre of the boy's chest. The magic seemed familiar, he thought with a frown. But now was evidently not the time to ponder such things. It was evident that he was not in his own body - not in the body of Albus Dumbledore anyway - anymore. No, instead, he had been… reincarnated… in a small child?

Curiosity surged within him: reincarnation? He had read many texts on the subject, all implying that reincarnation was possible, and that in the way that that magic worked, it was actually very probable, but it had never been proved before. Yes, there were one or two wizards or witched every century who claimed to be a wizard or witch reborn, but nothing ever really came out of it.

This boy's magical core was quite active for a person his age, and also had promise of becoming quite large. Even so, it seemed very impossible that Albus would be able to tap into it any time soon - it was simply too undeveloped. Which was why, of course, wizards and witches were only given their first wand after their eleventh birthday, when their cores had matured and stabilised.

Perhaps pure brutal force would jerk the door open? While undignified, it would have to serve him as a solution for the time being. Manoeuvring in his crouched position, he pressed his back against the wall opposite to the door and placed his feet against the door. Using his back as counter-force, he started to roughly, sporadically kick at the door. He was going for his fourth kick when the door flew open; the momentum caused his body to propel forwards and his head to hit the top of the door frame.

Albus' vision swam for a few moments and he attempted to massage his head, but the headache only became worse.

"Boy!" Shouted, in a whisper, a harsh voice above him, "What is this racket?! What have I told you about being _silent_ when respectable people are over?"

That voice… he recognised it. But no — it couldn't be?! Simply couldn't! He couldn't be-

Vernon Dursley was staring down at him; he was dressed in a size-too-small expensive-looking suit - probably his _only_ suit. Albus could hardly see his face over the pudgy stomach, but the large walrus-like moustache was trembling with rage. There was also inherent hate etched into his entire visage; his body was trembling with malicious intent and his very eyes seemed to be bulging a little.

"In!" He whispered harshly, motioning at the inside of the cupboard as Albus' - or Harry's - legs had stretched over the 'threshold'. " _IN_!" He said somewhat more forcibly.

"Vernon, dear! Is everything alright?" Called a woman's voice from the next room, which Albus realised sounded very much like Petunia. Although, this time, it wasn't laced with venom and hate, as it usually was when Albus had spoken to her in the past, instead she seemed to be trying very hard to depict herself as the exemplary house-wife. Albus heard voices in the next room (which he supposed was the living room) and they were promptly followed by raucous laughter.

"Perfectly fine, Petunia!" His voice was a pitch higher than usual and moderately kinder than usual. Then he turned his pudgy face on Albus once more.

Albus was not one to discriminate on the basis of one's genetics, orientation or blood, but even now, faced with this utter pig of a man, who treated his own nephew with such hate and ostracisation - well, it was disgusting. "Back inside, _freak_ ," he intoned the word with so much malice that even Albus was stupefied for a moment. And with one quick jerk of the door, Vernon slammed it shut, nearly injuring Albus' legs if the latter hadn't been quick enough to pull them to his chest. A 'click' sounded, and Albus very suddenly realised that Harry's uncle had _locked_ him inside. What an abominable muggle.

Now back in the darkness, Albus surveyed the situation.

Evidently, he had somehow been reborn as a five or six year old Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter. In the darkness, he could vaguely see the rest of his body, and as he gently allowed it to relax, he realised what a surreal feeling it was to have such a young body under his control once more. It was foreign to him to command a leg to stretch out and then see said short, youthful leg move. It was very much like taking a polyjuice potion, and then marvelling the abrupt changes it did to one's own body.

Albus gently raised two fingers to his - Harry's - forehead, after suddenly remembering why Harry was in this predicament in the first place. A rough scar met his rough, calloused fingers and he traced the lightning-bolt scar. _Cursed with black magic indeed_ , he thought grimly. A Horcrux. Tom's Horcrux. He would have to find a way to get rid of that as it seemed to be trying to stunt Harry's magical growth.

Delving deep inside in a meditative sort of way, Albus gently probed at his own spirit - or soul, for lack of a better word - wondering what had happened to Harry's own. He delved deeper and found his own soul impatiently working against the youthful body, being much more used to the elderly body that Albus had previously had. But he found no trace of Harry's soul anywhere within. It was as though his very essence had been taken over by Albus' magic and mind.

And Albus mourned Harry; the boy had had such a beautiful, pure soul with so much capability to love and care. And to think that he had grown up in a household such as this. A household that… _Albus_ had put him in. He shuddered. It seemed magic itself had made the decision to relive Harry off this terrible life, and had put Albus in it, to punish him.

Perhaps this was also a chance for Albus to do a better job this time? Redeem himself in the eyes of magic? For he could see no other explanation other than this. There simply was not. 'W _hen you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,_ ' Albus' mind quoted for him.

Perhaps he _could_ do it better this time.

.

It was a day later that the cupboard door was jerked open once more. Albus had been trying to - in vain - access his magic, but every attempt had only frustrated him more and more. His core had not matured yet and there was not much he could do until it did. Maybe in two or three years when his accidental magic began to act up in earnest.

Nevertheless, now was not the time for pondering on such things: Vernon was shouting at him again.

"Boy! You burn the bacon again and - !" He seemed to raise a hand to mimic striking or hitting and for the first time in this surreal experience, Albus felt dread. He had never felt a particular attachment towards his own parents; his own father had resented him after a while, but he had never resorted to neglect or even the threat of abuse.

"Vernon," Petunia whispered quietly from the doorway. Both persons turned to look at her, one with hatred still etched on his face, the other with silent dread. "You don't know what _they_ will do if you do _that_ ," she said, eyes glancing around furtively. "They might be watching us even now."

Almost at once, Vernon deflated, hand dropping and all hateful tension leaking from his body. Even so, when he turned to look at Albus one last time he still saw a lot of malice in those dark eyes. He did raise a pointer finger at Harry though. "The bacon, boy. You don't burn it, you hear?!"

He vanished down the hall, presumably towards the kitchen. Frowning, Albus followed him. Did they really expect him to _cook_? He hadn't cooked himself since he had lived with Abe and Ar — _no,_ he would not think of her. Glancing around the kitchen, Albus found several objects he did not recognise. While the muggle world had always fascinated him — being a half-blood wizard who had grown up within the wizarding community — but he was altogether unprepared to _cook_ , of all things.

Petunia was at the stove, minding something in a skillet, but Albus was too short in his present body to see what precisely — and more importantly _how_ — she was cooking it. She glanced at him with a distasteful glare, but was forced to acknowledge him when he cleared his throat. Her unpleasant 'yes?', told him that asking questions was not an altogether good thing to do in the Dursley household, so he refrained, unwilling to earn Petunia's ire too.

"You will stand on this," she hissed, placing a stool in front of the stove. Albus stared disbelievingly at her for a moment or two, then seeing the impatient tension in her body, he acquiesced. She handed him a pair of long tongs. When she saw the blank look he was giving her, she gestured impatiently at the skillet (where he could now see bacon being fried).

"Well! Turn it over!" She turned around to start mixing something else in a bowl on the other side of the kitchen while Albus stared, dumbfounded at the muggle tools before him. He, Hogwarts prodigy and then headmaster, defeater of Gellert Grindelwald found himself defeated by a simple muggle every-day-sort-of-thing!

All of a sudden, an apple and a piece of toast was placed next to the skillet, but when Albus turned to look at Petunia, he found that her back was turned once more. Was it possible that she felt more remorse than she showed? Albus gingerly placed the apple in his pocket and took the piece of toast in his other hand while he clumsily attempted to get his body to work with his mind and flip the bacon before he managed to burn it.

"Mummy!" Said a youthful voice from the entrance to the kitchen: a large, pudgy boy with a blonde head and wide blue eyes. Dudley, wasn't it? Petunia turned, a look of utmost love and doting on her face. _Why won't she show that to Harry_? Albus wondered to himself.

"Duddykins!" She said in a shrill voice and peppered his face with kisses. The boy was dressed smartly - for school presumably. And now that Albus examined him, he realised he looked perhaps a year or two older than Albus felt his own body did. Had the Dursleys stunted his body growth that much already?!

Petunia very suddenly turned her head in Albus' direction once more. She gestured to the bacon. "Get that done, and then get ready for school, boy." Albus felt himself nodding and very gently, mindful of his as-of-yet clumsiness with muggle tools and the concept of cooking, he placed the slices of bacon on a nearby plate. Then he turned off the stove. He hopped off the stool and brushed past Dudley (who elbowed him discreetly in the side as he passed) and to his cupboard.

It was truly abominable how the Dursleys treated their only nephew and he felt sudden guilt rise up within him for his decision to leave Harry in such a household as this. He should have listened to Minevra when she had told him that these muggles were _vile_. They were worse than _vile._

His empty stomach heaved suddenly, and Albus found himself rushing to the nearest bathroom. He heaved and panted, but alas, all that came out was stomach acid. Biting his lip, he went to wash up when he caught his reflection in the mirror, and he gasped: Harry's body looked terrible; his face was gaunt and what little baby fat remained, it did nothing to conceal the horrendous treatment that the Dursleys evidently gave him. The scar stood out prominently through his unruly black hair. The eyes, however, twinkled with the similar look of power and joy of life as they had in his previous life. He wondered if that was an effect of him taking over Harry's body.

Cleaning up quickly — he was unwilling to get shouted at again — Albus rushed himself to the cupboard and found that someone (Petunia no doubt) had laid out a washed pair of trousers and shirt. Oversized, yes, but at least they did not stink of musk and stale sweat.

.

He had taken a seat at the back of the class, thankfully Dudley was sat before him, as Albus imagined that he would have snapped quite quickly if he had had to bear Dudley's concept of humour which involved flicking the ear of the person in front of him and then exploding into silent hysterics with his little gang.

Albus felt eager to be out of the Dursley household and back in such a familiar environment, only now not as a teacher or a professor, but as a student. Even so, his love for academic studies and knowledge quickly made itself known and he found himself eagerly doing exercises that were far, far, far beyond his level. Nevertheless, it was interesting to see his body trying to write down what he wished it to. It seemed that muscle memory was not something that had been passed on from his old body too.

"Very good, Harry," the Scottish teacher (a Mrs. Vipond), said as she examined the sums he'd done. An irate Dudley turned to glare at him from the row in front of Albus and he deliberately raised a finger to his throat an mimicked 'cutting it off'. It seemed that 'Harry excelling at something' was another unwanted thing at the Dursley household.

"Why don't you try this, Harry?" She sketched out a more complicated sum. For a moment, Albus hesitated, wary of what Vernon might do when he came back to their house. Then again, it seemed his magic wouldn't be very active until a few years at least, so academic success seemed like the only way he would be able to put any distance between himself and the Dursleys.

Picking up the muggle pencil (its ingenuity kept on surprising him - to put lead _inside_ of the utensil - incredible!) he easily did the sum, recalling his expert knowledge of arithmetics. The teacher hummed and smiled in approval. "That's very good Harry. Why don't you stay after class and we try some more?" He glanced at Dudley who was staring at him with the utmost hate and defiantly nodded. He would have to work on Dudley, but the boy would eventually learn that the world was not as black and white as the Dursleys had evidently presented it to him as.

The end of class could not come soon enough, and suddenly, the rest of the students had gone out to play in the yard during their break while Albus remained inside, now in the front row, as the Mrs. Vipond wrote sums (each one more complicated than the previous one) on the board.

"Okay," she said putting the chalk down and turning to face him with an encouraging smile. "Take as long as you need, Harry."

Albus gently placed the tip of his pencil back on the paper and started doing the sums. He was done in less than a few minutes. Hearing that he had stopped writing, the teacher looked up. "Too hard?" she said kindly. Albus cocked his head to the side, eyes twinkling and mouth curled into a small smile.

"I'm done, miss."

A look of wonderment crossed her face and she reached out her hand in a silent demand to look over his answers. Her eyes widened when she saw that everything was right. "Oh, wow." She glanced up at him. "Who taught you this? Did your uncle show you how to do this?"

Ah, so she was familiar with his living arrangements. Albus steepled his fingers under his chin. "No, miss."

"Well, well, Harry. We'll have to see about placing you in a higher year, yes?" She laughed incredulously when she looked back down at the paper. "Of course, you'll have to take an exam to see if you can join a new class… but this is outstanding, Harry!" Even with his unfair advantage and massive intellect, Albus found himself smiling a little in response: apparently there was still hope for him to get away from the Durselys. But even now, in this terrible situation, in this terrible household, he found that happiness and hope could still be found in the darkest of times if only one remembered to turn on the light.

* * *

 _Lemme know what you think!_


	2. Redemption

Thank you for all of your kind encouragements!

I recommend you read this in 3/4 of the actual size. The text was formatted in a doc so it looks a little stretched out on ffnet.

Warnings: mentions of possible abuse, lots of magical theory, death, references to a lot of shit, long internal monologues etc. As the story progresses, I shall have to add more warnings.

* * *

"My young man!" Vernon exclaimed when he came home. Dudley had come running towards him, launching himself at the man with glee. The slightly overweight man was forced to drop his case and pile of mail that he had brought into the house with him, to be able to support Dudley's weight as the boy hung from his neck like some sort of orangutang. Albus watched this interaction from the open kitchen door that led to the hallway.

"How was your day at school, eh? Little Tyke?" Vernon dropped the muggle boy back onto his feet and kissed his wife briefly before she gently pulled off his overcoat: it was starting to get cold outside, after all.

Dudley started to excitedly tell him all about what had happened during break, acting like a little angel son. Albus mourned for the boy who sought out so much approval from his parents, and received pampering in return. From his extensive experience with children, Albus derived that the only thing that Dudley wanted was to be taken seriously from his parents.

"And then the _freak_ -"

 _Uh-oh._

Albus pursed his lips. Of course Dudley would have to bring _that_ up. Approval from his parents, indeed, he muttered to himself.

"…Mrs Vipond wants him to take a test to see if he should be put in a higher year," the muggle boy was saying excitedly, now that he noticed that he had his father's full attention.

"She does, does she," Vernon said calmly from the doorway to the kitchen - Albus hadn't even heard him approach and he stiffened. There was an underlying layer of hate imbued in the man's voice. At this moment he wished very much that he had his magic back and that he could practice legiimency so that he could determine what the muggle was thinking.

A hand clamped on his shoulder painfully, and Albus knew suddenly that that was going to bruise. His own father had never been violent with his three children, but he had been known to use some extra force where none was needed.

"You think you're smart, do you, boy?" Vernon said maliciously, dragging him down the hallway. Albus fought back, trying to put as much space as he could between himself and the wizard-hating muggle. Vernon had an iron-clad hold on him, though, and there was nothing his seven year old, magic-less body could do to fight back. As he jerked and twitched in Vernon's hold, he saw Petunia shamefully disappearing into the kitchen, evidently too afraid of Vernon's dominance. Dudley watched on eagerly, if a little hesitantly, for putting his cousin in such a predicament.

Then the front door was swung open and Harry was pushed through it, wearing nothing but his thick socks, trousers and too-large muggle shirt. He landed arse-first in the snow and briefly thanked merlin for the small cushioning that the wintery white coat of snow provided for him. Vernon stood in the doorway for a moment, and then without a word, slammed the door shut.

Albus stood up after a moment, and brushed off the snow from his clothes, trying his best to remain as dry as possible for the time being. Remorse welled up within him again: _he_ had placed Harry in this abusive, neglectful household. How could he have not listened to his trusted friend Minerva? How had he been stupid enough to leave Harry with these people. He had been safe from Death Eaters and the like, but he had certainly not been protected from the dangers within.

Sighing deeply, Albus wondered what to do next: Vernon was certainly not going to let him into the house until the next morning and it was snowing heavily. Soon, night would fall, and he would be shelterless, left to freeze until morning. Ah! Did Arabella Figg not live close-by? Wincing as pain radiated up his feet and towards his spine as he stepped out onto the cold street, Albus started walking in that general direction. He had only made it to the end of the street, when a muggle car rolled to a stop beside him.

Curiosity killed the cat; he found himself staring through the front window into a familiar face: Mrs Vipond. Her eyes widened when his face turned to meet her probing stare and she too, recognised him. The window was instantly rolled down and she stared down at him in horror.

"Harry! Oh my lord!" She opened the door to her car, rushed out, opened the back door and rushed him in. He sat down in the plush car seat, trying to remember when the last time was that he had sat in one of these contraptions. Several decades, he surmised. Mrs. Vipond, however it seemed, was not going down memory lane. She turned around in her seat, staring wide-eyed at him.

"Who left you outside like that?" she demanded, voice sounding very authoritative - a contrast to her classroom-voice, which was kind and encouraging.

Almost instantly, Albus' strategical mind leapt to various ways he could take advantage of the situation. Vernon was a vile man - there was no point of return in him; he was vile by nature. Albus had previously thought that no man was without redemption if he truly wanted it, but Vernon…. alas, it seemed Albus had finally found the exception to the rule. Petunia and Dudley, however, he mused, could still become the pleasant people that they had the potential to be.

"My uncle, Vernon," he replied naively, feeling a little bad for manipulating the teacher like so. But if she heard him talk as he usually did, ah, he would potentially scare her away. "He threw me out when my cousin told him about your proposal to have me placed in another year."

Her face grew red with rage and disbelief that a man could do such a thing to his nephew. "By God," she whispered to herself. "I am not taking you back there, do you understand, Harry? We're going to go report this."

Five hours later, child services had arrived and inspected the house. Notes had been taken, reports had been made, and Vernon had been arrested. A court date had been set for later that month, and yet, Petunia, Dudley and himself had been told with utter certainty by the child services officer, that Vernon would be getting up to ten years in prison.

Not vindictive in nature, Albus surprised himself when regret pooled in his stomach at the fact that Vernon would not be going somewhere like Azkaban. But it was understandable, he supposed, as he had loved Harry very deeply and had never known-

A knot of emotions suddenly clogged up his throat as he imagined Harry living through all of this and then appearing at Hogwarts, neglected and never remembering someone loving him. Suddenly Harry's selfless and forgiving… and loving nature was all too well explainable. His thirst for acceptance had placed him in Gryffindor with his very first friend. He had given his love so freely to so many people.

Albus swallowed the tears and emotions that kept creeping to his consciousness; this only got worse when he heard Dudley in the living room speaking with his mother, whilst Albus leaned against the kitchen counter. "Daddy's not coming back?"

Petunias's reply was too quiet for Albus to properly interpret and he once more lamented his current lack of magical ability. But soon he heard gentle sobs coming from the living room and the small reassurances that Petunia kept giving her son. Albus' mouth was dry as he buried his face in his hands; he had taken a child's father from him.

But it was necessary, he told himself. It was necessary.

.

The exams he was put through were long and quite boring. Albus had already been a prodigy in his own time; respected and sometimes even feared by his own classmates. He had breezed through Hogwarts, attaining praise, prizes and respect. And that had been his temptation: his thirst for power had been his weakness, which was why he had ultimately settled for becoming a teacher, where his weakness wouldn't fester into something more vile and destructive as it had within Gellert.

But if he had been a prodigy back then, well now he was something most humans could never even attain: a second life, a second set of memories, more experience, more knowledge. Of course, the muggles didn't know that, so when he got his results back via post at Privet Drive, where he had now been given the second bedroom, even Petunia had let out a gasp of surprise when she saw the results.

Albus had been advanced into year seven - he, a seven year old, would be in classes with students almost double his age. Dudley, however would be staying behind in year one. Clutching this piece of news in a letter, he arrived home with a bit of a smile. No purple-faced Vernon to greet him, no abundance of chores, only Petunia. Dudley trailed somewhat more dejectedly behind him as they got off the bus. Ever since Vernon had been taken away by the police less than two weeks ago, Dudley had been considerably calmer and, dare he say it, mature.

It seemed that now, Vernon's oppressive standards were no longer there and Dudley didn't really seem to know what ideal to follow. The door to the house opened before they had even reached the front garden and Petunia stood in the middle of the doorway; she was wiping her hands on an apron. She ignored Albus as he passed by her (which was an improvement from the scathing glares) and in turn hugged her son very, very tightly as though he had just come back a soldier from a dangerous battle.

Albus dropped his school-bag (which Petunia had dug out for him from somewhere in the attic) near the base of the stairs before strolling into the kitchen. As soon as it had become known that Vernon would not be returning home for at least ten years, the attitude towards him had changed in the entire household. Petunia had offered him the second bedroom, she had given him a bed and better-fitting clothes to wear along with the books that had been left unread in the attic and even some of Dudley's old toys that he never used anymore.

She had also curiously stopped giving him lists with chores and instead settled for making breakfast herself and allowing him to eat at the table. Dudley had complained a few times at first, but then seeing no approving smirks or nods, he had dropped the matter altogether.

"You got your exam results back… Harry?" Petunia asked tentatively as she and Dudley entered the kitchen (the latter instantly going to the fridge). Albus cocked his head to the side in bemusement. Had Vernon really had such an influence over her actions and thoughts? Had he really terrorised her so very much? He reached into the inside of his pocket and placed the formal letter on the table. Petunia sat down next to him and reached for the envelope. She slowly unfolded the documents within and with each line, her eyes grew wider and wider.

"I have been placed in year seven," he said calmly, his green eyes boring into her gaze. There was no twinkle in them now. "The teachers were quite concerned about me having difficulties connecting with students my age, so I was placed in seventh year as opposed to a higher school level." He knew it sounded odd, hearing such an old form of speech coming from such a youthful voice, but if Petunia was going to take him seriously, she would have to understand exactly what intellect he had. She was blinking at him in slight shock and Albus was reminded of a gaping fish. *1

"I need the signature of my guardian," he continued pointedly looking down at the letter. He wished, not for the first or last time that he could access his magic enough to use the mind arts, but it was not to be.

"Yes, yes, of course." Swallowing harshly, Petunia reached for a ballpoint pen and quickly scribbled her name a few times on a few different lines.

And a single month later, the Dursley household received a letter from child services and another from the state, saying that Vernon had been sentenced to ten years in Pentonville, leaving a troubled but satisfied Albus and a surprisingly relieved Petunia.

.

Petunia's apology for all the ways she had acted against her nephew seemed to manifest as small or even large actions; every day things. When she went out to get new uniforms, she would come back with several extra sets for Albus too, when she cooked, she cooked enough for three, and when Dudley attempted to make fun of Albus, she would put a stop to it. It seemed now, for the first time ever, she was now finally following the demands that Dumbledore had left in the letter when he had placed Harry on her doorstep.

Eventually, she started to even out the amount of chores between Dudley, herself and Albus and even went to work to be able to sustain the family. While life was somewhat more subdued now than it had been before, when Vernon had lived in the house, it was also calmer and more at peace. There weren't any more loud play-dates, and the telly wasn't a constant in their lives any longer. Even the unhealthy food didn't make an appearance on the table.

Slowly, Dudley started to thin out; with the help of the karate lessons he took, he had started to earn more muscle than fat and had surprisingly achieved a more balanced inner spirit. Albus, had in contrast, attained more healthy mass and he had started to train his core to be more flexible when it came to magic. He spent hours upon hours, in class, on the bus and elsewhere, simply training his magic to redirect to various parts of his body, healing the years of neglect and emotional hatred. And slowly, over the years, he started to shoot up in height like a weed, something that he was very glad for as he had been very fond of his unusual height in his previous life.

He supposed he had found some solace in having an older cousin, but their dynamic had turned into something more of 'reluctant brothers' and Albus, being the mature one, had automatically taken the older brother role. Harry and Dudley were nine - two years since Vernon's incarceration - when Albus found himself suddenly taking Dudley under his wing: whether it was chasing away bullies or helping him out with his homework, he found himself getting increasingly more invested in Dudley's life and development.

Petunia had stumbled in on them a few times, with a laundry basket, or a phone in hand as she chatted to one of her girlfriends; and Albus had secretly noted the small smile crossing her lips when she saw Albus helping his cousin to read, or teaching him about the latest science experiment that Dudley had not understood in his science class. Somehow, Albus saw Dudley as a chance to fully become a big brother - something he had neglected to do with Abeforth and Ariana. He had always been so obsessed with his own image, his own successes, that he had never stopped to think about them, about the lack of a figurehead in the family once his father had been convicted for attacking the muggle boys who had attacked Ariana, and his mother who had died during one of Ariana's seizures.

Now was his chance to put a stop to a festering hate within a family; and he could do it by in turn loving Dudley, which he found he soon started to do. The boy wasn't all that bright, or talented in any specific art, but there was a kindness in him and a thirst to prove himself to his mother and Albus, that had been so deeply buried under his idolisation of his father, that Albus had very easily overseen it at first.

"That's perfect, Big-D," he said with a smile as Dudley finished a particularly hard arithmetic sum. It always gave teachers a thrill when their students finally understood a specific topic. "I think that's enough for the day, don't you?" Albus asked his cousin, eyes twinkling. Dudley gave an exasperated sigh.

"Finally!" He dropped the notebook back into his bag and turned to stare out the window of the school bus that was taking them home. Albus chuckled and patted Dudley's knee a few times.

"We'll make a mathematician out of you yet!"

"Doubt it," Dudley said with a groan.

"You needn't be so dramatic about it," Albus said with a frown, but his eyes were twinkling merrily. In response to that, Dudley simply mimicked plunging a sword into his chest. He feigned unconsciousness.

"Maths has finally done me in," he whispered, cracking one eye open while Albus regarded him fondly. The bus rolled to a stop and a few people got out. Noting that they were only a few streets away from Privet Drive, Albus quickly grabbed Dudley's bag and his own and beckoned him to the doors before they shut. They spilled out onto the pavement just as the doors were closing.

"We're nowhere near home, Harry!" Dudley whined, grabbing his bag back. Albus chuckled and reached down to the ground, grabbing a freshly fallen handful of snow.

"Nowhere near, no. But-" he laughed and threw the ball of snow at Dudley who was completely unprepared and stared at him in shock for a moment or two as he tried to process what that cold liquid was that was trickling down his spine, "-we're just in time to be the first to use all of this," he gestured at the snow surrounding them, "for our epic snowball fight."

"Oh you-" Dudley shouted in mock-betrayal. With a huge grin plastered upon his face, the young boy took two armfuls of snow and attempted to dump them on Albus, but he had already swiftly spun away and had started to jog down the street.

They arrived home sweaty and bright red, but chuckling and in good spirits. Also very soaked through. Petunia ushered them in, smiling herself, unable to chastise them properly and forced them to take turns taking hot baths to stop a cold from taking hold.

A full year later, when he was ten (or rather, Harry's body was ten), Albus had started sensing his magical core more and more. It's largeness was starting to expand day by day and Albus was starting to have trouble keeping it under control. It responded to his emotions more readily and liked to peek out from under his usual iron-clad control and make itself known. If Petunia noticed anything, she didn't say.

Nevertheless, this gave Albus the chance to _finally_ start using the powers that he had used for a better part of a hundred and ten years. He spent a few hours meditating each night, bending the magic to his will, making it circulate through his body, practicing with coils of pure magic that circled his room, weaving between books and various objects that cluttered the smallest bedroom of the house.

It seemed that in this life, Albus was once more destined for great power as he saw no stopping in the way Harry's magical core kept on expanding and expanding. And yet, he knew from his own experience that brute force was nothing without knowledge. To him, it had always seemed that the weakest of wizards could win duels against the most powerful with quick, street smarts, well aimed curses and original ideas.

And using this newfound power, Albus started training in the mind arts. There was little he could do without a wand, of course. But occlumency walls were something that had to be done psychically and with the help of one's inner magic, not a simple incantation. Spells and techniques like legilimency, however, would have to wait as they were only practicable with a wand - at least, until he had regained a similar iron-clad control over his magic as he had had in his previous life.

However, even now that he had magic to use (sometimes even useful levitation and such if he had the concentration for it!), he had no owl, and no way to Diagon Alley without arousing suspicion. Therefore the wizarding world remained cut off from him, leaving him to wait impatiently for the 31st of July when his first Hogwarts letter came.

However, it seemed that magic itself did not want to wait as long as he was prepared to wait for it.

It was a Sunday evening and their small family was having a Sunday roast dinner; a small tradition they had after mass (which Petunia insisted they went to every week). Albus had just finished reading through his Shakespeare text (apparently muggles were quite fond of his plays and insisted on studying him all through school) and Dudley was still doing last-minute studying for a test the next morning whilst intermittently stuffing his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

Petunia was keeping up polite conversation with Harry about the Prime Minister (who had just been reelected) whose policies had become very controversial throughout England. Her ideas of privatisation and isolationism had very effectively turned the people (especially of the north) against her. A small fire was crackling away in the far side of the living room and the general atmosphere was quite calm, when all of a sudden, a large, fiery blur raced through the open window, knocking down a vase which had been standing on the windowsill. Dudley gave a shout of surprise and looked up in time to see (and hear) Petunia shrieking in fear and Albus staring at the creature that was now doing quick laps around the room.*2

His eyes widened as he recognised exactly who the creature was and sped after it - after him, giving Petunia a shout of 'I'll take care of it!' when she moved to help him. Almost as though he knew, Fawkes bolted towards Albus' room and by the time he had reached it, he found his companion from another life perched on a stack of book at his desk, peering at Albus with curiosity.

Shutting the door behind him, Albus slowly approached the creature.

"Hello, old friend," he said somewhat sadly. Fawkes was his only link to whatever life he had led before… only this Fawkes probably didn't even know him as the Albus Dumbledore who had died on top of the Astronomy Tower, this one only knew the present Dumbledore.

Albus gently reached out with his hand and stroked the bird's soft plumage. Fawkes preened and leaned into his touch, welcoming it. The bird was somewhat dirty, Albus noted, and then horrified he discovered several twisted feathers. Making a small gesture of 'may I?' he started plucking those odd feathers out. How had Dumbledore of this world allowed Fawkes to become so neglected.

Before he could even think to ask Fawkes any questions, a series of imaged crossed his inner mind and he gasped as he saw various short sequences of events that had taken place at Hogwarts three years ago, exactly when Albus himself had woken up as Harry Potter. He gasped as he watched, through Fawkes' eyes, as Dumbledore convulsed in his sleep, evidently having some sort of seizure, before slowly slipping away. His face relaxed and a small smile appeared on his face as he welcomed death. The following sequences that appeared in his mind were of Minerva becoming headmistress and then of Fawkes flying around the world in despair, crying songs of lament for his fallen master and friend.

When Fawkes finally detached himself from Albus' mind, he found that tears had silently started to traverse down his cheeks. "My dear Fawkes, your lament has honoured me beyond understanding," he said quietly.

The phoenix trilled to show that he did, in fact understand. Albus slumped down in the chair sitting at his desk and the creature instantly dropped itself in his lap. After a moment, Albus noticed that Fawkes was brushing against his magic which, the wizard supposed was a welcome feeling for him after going so long thinking that his master was gone.

"I am not him," Albus finally forced himself to say. He truly was not the Albus that had died here three years ago. From what he could tell, this was the last piece of evidence that fully supported his theory that this was an alternate universe in which the Dumbledore here never lived to regret any decisions he had made regarding Harry. He, himself was a more mature Albus, his magic was somewhat darker, and his attitude was perhaps a little less idealistic.

Fawkes sent him an impulse of magic, showing he understood. "May-Maybe," Albus' voice broke somewhat uncharacteristically, "If you track me down at Hogwarts, we can bond again, if you so wish." Fawkes cocked his head to the side, regarding Albus with that intelligent expression of his.

"But right now," Albus gestured at the general direction of the living room where it seemed Petunia and Dudley had stayed. "Petunia would only grow afraid of me and the magic she would realise that I possess, old friend."

Fawkes trilled in quiet understanding and he bobbed his head sadly. Then, Albus gently placed him on the table and opened the window directly in front of the desk. He tenderly ran his fingers through the plumage one last time and then the phoenix launched out of the window, and then disappeared out of sight.

"So long, my friend, until we see each other again," Albus murmured into the night.

* * *

*1 year seven is comparable with seventh or sixth grade in the US and most European countries. Students are generally between 12 and 13 years old.

*2 the prime minister mentioned is Margaret Thatcher

My kindergarten teacher was called Mrs. Vipond. She taught me how to read in English so kudos to her.

lemme know what you think! (particularly of Albus' relationship with Dudley - I find it adorable and keep grinning like a fool when I write them)


	3. Rediscovery

These chapters seem to be getting exponentially longer, so thank you for all of your kind encouragements!

I recommend you read this in 3/4 of the actual size. The text was formatted in a doc so it looks a little stretched out on ffnet.

Warnings: mentions of possible abuse, lots of magical theory, death, references to a lot of shit, long internal monologues, some philosophical theory bc I am that pretentious (also because I believe that is how Dumbledore, a highly intellectual individual, would think), etc. As the story progresses, I shall have to add more warnings.

A note for this chapter: _opinions stated in this chapter (and possibly all future chapters) from any of the characters do not reflect my own. They are simply my interpretation of the cognitive thought process that goes on in the characters' heads._

* * *

He was eleven years old. Finally.

Four years in a muggle home had humbled his soul to the point that he had started to see very simple muggle solutions to very complex wizarding problems. Having being raised in a wizarding family with very powerful witched and wizards, he had never really seen a life out of the wizarding world. Of course, one could not miss what one didn't have, so muggles who lived without magic their entire lives, could have no idea they were missing it.

In any case, he was a wizard, and he had grown to miss that world very, very much. He missed the flamboyant robes, the air that was saturated with magic, the every day accidents that occurred in a place where over three hundred powerful students found themselves losing their control over their magic and blowing up something in their faces, he missed wizarding chess and various wizarding sweets - Petunia had already restricted his lemon sherbet intake when she had noticed how hooked he was on the muggle sweet.

It was a wonderful summer day. Also coincidentally his birthday, or rather, Harry's birthday. Albus was currently sitting on a swing in the Magnolia Crescent park, adjoining Wisteria Walk which was, as he knew, very close to where Arabella Figg lived. The sun was shining brightly, making the skin on his neck blister a bit and he relished in the warmth that the sun provided.

"Hey Harry!" Albus looked up to see Dudley approaching with a group of boys. One was carrying a black and white football.

"Me and the boys are gonna play some football. Wanna join?"

"'Going to' and 'want to'," Albus admonished, not unkindly. The other boys sniggered at Dudley's expense, the latter rolled his eyes, all too used to the wizard's antics.

"So, do you _wanna_?" Dudley asked, sarcasm dripping off every word. Albus chuckled and ruffled his hair. His height gave him an unfair advantage over Dudley, who was physically the same age as Albus, and he intended to exploit that as much as he could. One or two of the boys cooed mockingly at the affectionate way Albus treated him. Kindly declining the offer and excusing himself, Albus pushed himself off the swing and started making his way back to Privet Drive. As he was rounding the corner of the street, he heard some distant conversation:

"…Oh, man, I wish my older brother was like that," said one voice.

"He's my cousin," Dudley replied and Albus could almost see him rolling his eyes. "And yeah," his cousin continued, "he's pretty awesome."

A small smile crossed Albus's lips as he slowly strolled up to his house. He passed a few residents of the area and smiled and greeted them by name. He even helped carry Mrs. Robert's groceries up to her kitchen, as her old age was starting to catch up with her. She thanked him with a smile and gave him a cookie or two to eat on the way.

Once he had finally reached the house, he took off his shoes and left them in the foyer; he would clean them later.

"Harry? Is that you?" Petunia's suddenly very timid voice called from the sofa in the living room. Albus frowned - was it something serious? Or maybe… maybe the letter —

Peeking around the open door, he saw Petunia sitting in one of the impeccably clean sofas, holding a letter with a very familiar crest on the back, hands trembling. She looked up when he crossed the threshold into the room and beckoned him to the sofa. She swallowed nervously as he sat down.

Albus could already feel the magic emanating from the envelope. The very parchment and ink and even the wax functioning as a seal were permeated with magic so profoundly that they seemed like a part of Hogwarts herself. Albus drunk the sensation up. After being restricted from it for so many years… to feel it like this was wonderful.

"Harry, you should know that what I am about to tell you is the complete truth and-" Petunia staggered over her own words and oddly, Albus understood. Petunia had once lost a sister to the wizarding school and was about to let a nephew - her sister's son - follow in her footsteps. "-and I am very sorry that I didn't tell you before."

"You see," she began as she passed the envelope to him. Albus' magic sang in response to the simple touch of Hogwarts' magic. "Your parents both had m-magic. They belonged to a community of magic-users… And they weren't killed in a car-crash." She took a deep breath. "When I was twelve years old your mother, then eleven, received a letter just like that one. At first no one believed it save for Lily because she had started to control the power that the letter now called magic."

 _Fascinating_ , Albus thought, _a muggle child that had had enough maturity and consciousness of thought to actually delve into her core? Most adult wizarding folk didn't even know how to replicate the same action._

"Professor McGonagall came to the house and explained it all. There was a school called Hogwarts for other wizarding children, some from magical backgrounds, some born from two…" she hesitated, "muggles."

"And you are such a muggle," Albus said gently, inclining his head at Petunia. If she was shocked that he would believe her so readily, she didn't show it.

"Yes, I am, Dudley is too. So was Vernon," she said, nodding.

"And my parents? Their death?" He questioned quietly. Petunia bit her lip uncertainly.

"They were m-murdered. Your lot was having a war and towards the end of it, your parents were murdered-" Petunia seemed like she was close to tears and Albus hesitantly took hold of her hand. He tenderly forced the magic in his core to pass on to Petunia like a cloak of warmth and comfort. She gasped and stared at their joint hands, eyes wide.

When they snapped up to meet Albus' there was something accusing in them. "All this time — you knew?"

Albus smiled warmly. "I suspected," he said by way of explanation. Petunia harrumphed and pulled her hands back, instantly Albus' own magic withdrew, now that the physical connection was gone.

"Well go on, then. Open the letter!" Petunia exclaimed, gesturing at the 'offending' envelope still clutched between Albus' hands.

He broke the seal, marvelling the crest on the front. How many years had he used this coat of arms to seal his own letters? There were three letters inside: one was his acceptance letter (which he was sad but not surprised to see now bore the name 'Minerva McGonagall' as headmistress), the second was his list of supplies and the third was a letter from Filius himself.

 _Dear Mr Potter,_

 _It has come to my attention that you were raised by Muggles. In such cases, Hogwarts always sends a professor to explain the finer points of wizarding culture and if needed, to provide proof that our society is, indeed, real. If it is adequate for you and your family, a Hogwarts professor will visit you on the 1st of August to give you explanations and to accept your reply if you so wish to attend our school._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Filius Flitwick,_

 _Deputy Headmaster_

"It appears that a professor will be coming to visit us tomorrow," Albus said, watching as Petunia's face paled, knowing how much she cared about outward appearances.

"Yes, I suppose that would be good," she managed to force out.

.

It had been more than four years since Albus had had his last taste of magic (with the exception of his brief accidental magic cases, own magical training and Fawkes' visit) and from the moment he woke up he found himself practically trembling with anticipation. For a wizard such as him who had spent so long so immersed in magic, practically bathing in it, suddenly being jerked to Harry Potter's world where magic was nonexistent was a jarring experience which he found he did not want to repeat again.

However, when a crack, like a backfiring car sounded just a few corners away, Albus sat bolt upright in bed, where he had been reading a text on quantum physics (which surprisingly touched on a few magical theories). A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and he heard shuffling downstairs. The situation had been explained to Dudley and all of a sudden, Albus heard the door next door to his burst open and then the pitter-patter of feet leading up to his own room. Dudley burst in.

"Harry! They're here!" He whispered excitedly. Albus chuckled.

"Come on then, Big-D," he said calmly, although he was everything but that, and gestured to the stairs. "What are you waiting for?"

When Albus walked into the living room he found Petunia already offering the visitor to sit down and have some tea. A visitor who Albus knew all too well. A pleasant smile broke out on his face as he shook Minerva McGonagall's hand, wishing in that moment to do nothing more than hug his former student and good friend.

"Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts," she said kindly. Her lips were twitching slightly which Albus knew to interpret as a smile.

"This is my aunt, Petunia Dursley and my wayward cousin," Albus said, pulling Dudley (who was starting at Minerva's peculiar travelling hat with wonder) to his side. "Dudley."

He gestured graciously at the sofa opposite him and directly behind Minerva. "Please, sit."

She sat, eying him peculiarly has he stared at her with twinkling eyes. She seemed somewhat disturbed and he realised all of a sudden that he probably reminded her of her old friend and headmaster.

Minerva, in contrast, was drinking in the sight of a healthy Harry. Something in Petunia and Dudley's disposition had changed over the years. When she had visited them all those years ago, he had seen an unpleasant, rude woman attempting to calm down an equally as rambunctious and spoiled little boy.

Now though, Petunia seemed somewhat calmer; she sat staring at Minerva with the oddest, most pensive expression on her face which reminded the witch of the first time she had met her when Lily had received her own visit. Dudley, the cousin, was eagerly watching on, but he seemed more balanced, there was a maturity in him that she didn't often see in eleven year-old boys.

And Harry - Harry was a whole other story. From the moment he had walked into the room, straight-backed, tall and very self-assured and assertive, she had felt the atmosphere lighten, as though his very presence made everyone more content. His eyes twinkled with a sort of joy of life that she only remembered seeing in one other man.

Minerva forced her mind back to the present. It did no good to dwell on memories of the past, of people long gone.

"I understand that the Deputy Headmaster wrote to you to let you know that I would be coming to visit?" She finally said, feeling slightly awkward in the silence that had ensued after introductions had been made.

"Yes," Harry replied, lips quirking upwards. "And I very graciously accept your invitation to attend Hogwarts. It seems like a wonderful possibility!" He said joyfully. Minerva couldn't help but be unsettled with the odd tone with which he spoke.

Minerva was then forced to spend the next hour or so explaining various ideas and logistical ideas to Petunia such as funding, holidays and so on whilst Harry entertained Dudley. Finally, when it seemed that Petunia had run out of questions for the time being, Minerva stood up causing all eyes to fall on her once more.

"Unfortunately, all of the items on that list cannot be bought in muggle London, as such I will have to take Mr Potter with me to Diagon Alley to visit the various shops and buy his various supplies." Petunia opened her mouth ask something but Minerva swiftly interrupted her. "Which will be paid with the trust vault Mr Potter's parents left him."

Upon opening the gateway towards Diagon Alley, Minerva turned her eager eyes on the soon-to-be first year, always being one who enjoyed watching the muggle-born or muggle-raised children watch on in wonder as they experienced the wizarding world for the first time. She was not disappointed this time: Harry stared on, a large smile plastered all over his face, full of joy and happiness, as though nothing had ever even come close to this moment before. His bright green eyes were electrifyingly alit with life.

"Everyone is always surprised when seeing Diagon Alley for the first time," Minerva said, silently enjoying the look on Harry's face. However, there was something else in his physiognomy; something one might look like when spotting an old friend or returning home after a long trip. Banishing the odd thoughts now crossing her mind, Minerva gently pulled him along to the bank.

It was almost impossible to get there in any reasonable time because Harry kept stopping at one or another stand, examining the magical artefact being sold there, then asking for the price, and finally nodding very earnestly. He was inherently curious about everything.

"Mr Potter!" She was finally forced to bark when they had stopped a fifth time so that Harry could examine some sort of pendant that the crooked-toothed man behind the stand promised could make one invisible. The boy looked up from the pendant he was examining, lips drawn in a familiar pout, but Minerva couldn't quite place where she had seen it before.

"We don't have all day!" She called over the chatter of Diagon Alley's residents and visitors. Harry sighed melodramatically, excused himself from the man and slowly and gracefully walked over to her.

"I apologise, Professor."

"Some more seriousness will be advised and required at Hogwarts," she replied with a stern expression. Harry chuckled — yes, chuckled — merrily and eyes twinkling he spoke:

"Life is too important to be taken seriously, Professor McGonagall!" Despite the fact that Minerva was well over fifty years older than Harry, she felt chastised and corrected as though someone older and wiser than her had given her life's true lesson. But that was ridiculous - Harry was just a child!

A short trip to Gringotts ensured that Harry had a pouch of money (that McGonagall told him to spend wisely), and then they 'hit the shops' so to speak. They had just left _'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ ' with a large order for new wizard's robes (Harry had wanted the oddest combination of colours on his day-to-day robes), when Harry's bright eyes spotted a large shop - _Flourish and Blotts_ \- towards the north of the Alley. His whole body tensed with anticipation as he turned to look at Minerva.

"May I-" he gestured at the shop. Minerva pursed her lips and glanced at her watch. They were almost done with Harry's school shopping and only needed to get his wand. His robes would not be done until later that afternoon.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. We shall meet in front of Ollivander's in exactly one hour. I will arrange for your robes to be sent to your home via owl post." She had hardly finished her sentence, when the boy had started nodding to her in thanks and had quickly woven through the crowd in the direction of the book shop.

.

Albus spent a ridiculously long time simply running his hands up and down books, taking in the smell and reminiscing in old memories he had of obscure texts he had managed to procure over the years in his previous life. He wondered what had happened to his stupendous collection in his personal library at Hogwarts. Come to think of it, he wondered what had happened to his vault at Gringotts. No doubt Abeforth had inherited it all, after all, he was Albus' only recipient in his will.

Once he picked out the books for his first year from memory, he started browsing the bookshelves for anything he had not yet read or that particularly piqued his interest. He found a few _Transfiguration Today_ magazines on the far wall and purchased a pack of them too, interested to see what deviations this universe had from his own.

The man behind the counter eyed him oddly as Albus dropped a large stack of textbooks, fictional wizarding books, poetry and magazines with no effort at all as though they weighed nothing. This of course, was facilitated with Albus' increasing control over his own magic. In recent months he had found it easier to summon objects towards himself, levitate them and even sometimes control hair length or the weather in certain, confined areas.

Whilst carrying a heavy load of books was no particularly great feat, to Albus, who had been attempting to train his magic to it's previous level, it was a sign that what he _was_ doing, _was_ helping. Exiting the shop, he started wandering in the direction of Ollivander's but soon found himself standing in front of _Hippogriff House Cafe,_ which was located slightly to the south of the wand shop. The Cafe had been one of the first buildings in Diagon Alley that had been destroyed when Tom had started the war in earnest; it had always been one of Albus' favourite places to frequent with Nicholas, when he had been the alchemist's apprentice.

He sat down in the open air terrace and opened his parcel with books to pull out the _Transfiguration Today_ magazine. Flipping it open to a random page, his eyes widened in an instant upon seeing the the column on that page: "' _Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds', A Discourse on Human Transfiguration, by Albus Dumbledore (posthumously)"_. Biting his lip, Albus read that word over and over again. Posthumously. He had already gathered from Fawkes that Dumbledore of this world and timeline was dead. Minerva was headmistress, that much was clear.

It seemed that magic herself had attempted to balance out the amount of souls in this universe so as not to throw it into a paradox; for if there had been two Dumbledores walking around Diagon Alley… well, Albus surmised that the consequences would not be pleasant. He lamented his other self's death, knowing that his appearance in this world had ripped the Other's life from him. Albus' eyes found the article once more and he winced — to see that word attached to his name…

Albus quickly flipped the page, knowing already what that column comprised, having written it himself years ago. A nice, young waitress walked by him quickly and placed a bottle of Butterbeer that he barely even remembered ordering. Gulping half of it down in one go, Albus perused the magazine, only reading the headlines of articles by authors he knew to be often incorrect, and immersing himsel in those that had interesting deductive reasoning.

"Mr Potter!" Albus looked up to see Minerva standing directly in front of him, hiding the sun from view. Squinting up at her, Albus opened his mouth to exchange pleasantries, but she beat him to it.

"One hour, Potter!" She exclaimed exasperatedly. "I said one hour!"

"Ah," Albus murmured as his eyes dropped on his own peculiar watch (which had five hands, all moving at different speeds that had no correlation with the way muggles assessed time). Two hours had passed.

"Yes, Mr Potter. Eloquently put!" She sighed, "Perhaps I ought to transfigure you into a watch? Then surely you will not miss the train to Hogwarts?!"

Albus felt a small blush start to creep up his neck. This had actually been a daily occurrence in his old life as Albus Dumbledore; he would often be late to the faculty's meetings, or to dinner and lunch and had to be often chastised by Minerva to get, ah, how did she put it? - ' _A move on!'_

Minerva had often called his time wasted when he insisted that he had gotten lost in the castle, or he had ventured too far out into the Forbidden Forest. His answer to that had always been: "time one enjoys wasting is not wasted time", which always led to Minerva rolling her eyes at him and ushering him into whatever room he was supposed to be in.

"I apologise, Professor," he reiterated, suddenly feeling very young in the face of Minerva's wrath.

The transfiguration mistress harrumphed. "I suppose I'll be hearing a lot of that in the future," she said. Her eyes finally alighted on the magazine that Albus was still holding in his hands and her gaze softened and yet, her brow arched in bemusement. Ah, transfiguration and Minerva.

"I myself have a subscription to _Transfiguration Today_ ," she said, gesturing at the magazine. Albus smiled knowingly. Every time he had sent in a column, Minerva had been the first person at the breakfast table to find that particular page and the first to read it, analyse it and thoroughly go through the theories that Albus proposed.

"May I?" She asked after a moment, outstretching her arm. She flipped through a few pages and then stopped. Her gaze grew even softer and something akin pain and perhaps… love appeared in her countenance. All of a sudden, Albus realised that she had probably found the posthumously published article.

"Most children your age would rather read _Seeker Weekly_ or _Spella Weekly,_ " Minerva remarked. _Fascinating,_ thought Albus, he had never taken her to being a sceptic when it came to a child's intelligence.

"Magical theory fascinates me," he said as lightly as he could but there was an inculpating glint in his eye, challenging her to disagree with the fact that a child could understand the complex topics discussed in an academic periodical such as this. Minerva gave him a considering look before pulling out her wand and spelling the stack of books (that Albus could have carried himself, thank you very much) to float right behind her.

"Well, then, up you get, boy!" She said somewhat impatiently, giving him back the magazine. "Your wand!"

Albus hadn't been in Ollivander's shop for, ah, many years. Not since he had performed his Deputy Headmaster duties and had taken the Muggleborn wizards and witches to the shop. He wondered why Minerva was the one accompanying him to the Alley, as it was usually the Deputy's job to introduce the muggleborn children to the wizarding world. Perhaps she had wanted to personally see how he had been treated by the Dursleys?

Turning his mind back to the wandmaker, he tried to remember when he had seen him in person the last time, for surely he would have been a very different person back then, with a different spirit and a different aura. He had, however, corresponded with Garrick over the years after Fawkes had donated him the two feathers. Albus had always been interested to see who the wands would go to.

Now, he found himself wondering what wand would choose him — surely not Tom's brother-wand? For Harry's magic had changed too much, Albus had influenced it too much. As for wands, he now wondered where his own were: where was his cherry wand and perhaps more importantly, where was the Elder Wand? Pursing his lips slightly nervously as those thoughts invaded his head, he tried to relax and exclude an outward appearance of calmness and serenity.

Then Garrick appeared out of nowhere.

The man was as barmy-looking as ever: white hair sticking out in every direction, eyes popping out of his skull, and dressed in something that would have been more appropriate in victorian England - the muggle one. His bushy eyebrows moved prominently with every frown, every smile, with every minute expression.

However, the moment his eyes alighted on Albus, they widened a fraction more. The reborn ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts nodded faintly, to confirm any suspicions Garrick probably had. The wandmaker had the rare ability of _'sensing'_ which allowed him to see deep into another human being's — or indeed, creature's — soul and assess what was inside it. It made him very good at his job.

The man furtively glanced at Minerva, who was examining a wand holster on the other side of the room and Albus gave him a short shake of the head to indicate that no, she did not know who he really was. Garrick's bushy eyebrows arched and he gave Albus a bemused stare.

"Minerva McGonagall," he said at last, jerking her attention towards him. "Nine and a half inches, fir and… dragon heartstring?" Garrick Ollivander left the rhetorical question hanging in the air, as everyone knew that he had got it in one. "I trust it is in good shape?"

Minerva's hand reached to her arm holster to reassuringly pat her wand. "All in order," she said, smiling somewhat tensely. Albus almost chuckled, knowing how uncomfortable she was with types like Garrick; he had been the exception.

"Now, Mr Potter, do you know what kind of wand you want?" Garrick asked, mirth dancing behind his eyes. Albus folded his hands behind his back.

"I'll rather leave that decision up to the wands, sir," he said earnestly. Ollivander's lips twitched slightly as he turned around to reach up to a shelf overflowing with boxes with wands.

"Right you are," Garrick muttered to the wall and Albus was almost completely sure that he saw the man's shoulders shake in silent laughter. Minerva's frown only deepened with every word they spoke and Albus had no doubt that she felt like she was missing a large portion of what was really being said.

"Ten inches, snakewood, basilisk horn," Garrick said passing the wand over to him. Albus almost rolled his eyes at the ironic humour. Such a wand was primarily used for dark spells — no light wizard, or even morally grey wizard would or could ever be found in possession of such a wand. He took it anyway and was unsurprised when coldness radiated up his arm. In an instant, the whole shop was filled with a thick layer of frost.

"Ah," Garrick said quietly. Minerva didn't look altogether too amused, but seemed impressed at the powerful display of magic coming from someone that young.

"You're core, _young_ man, is quite active for one of your age," Garrick continued. If Albus were any other person, he would have taken this as a compliment, as only more mature wizards had very active cores. But seeing the dirty look briefly cross the wandmaker's face, he concluded that the man was actually making fun of how old he _really_ was.

Ollivander hummed and examined him for a moment. Then, spun and disappeared into the small walkways snaking through his large storage area. Albus stood in relative silence, allowing his magic to roam free. Once or twice, he caught Minerva staring at him, whether because this was the first time he had consciously used magic in front of her or because he had started to hum a song he had always hummed when touring the hallways of Hogwarts, he didn't know.

Finally, Garrick reappeared in front of them, carrying not a box this time, but a long object wrapped in a cloth. He gently placed the wand on the counter between him and his two customers while they looked on in curiosity. The wandmaker then slowly unwrapped it and Albus' mouth popped open: laying there, innocently, was a wand which had brought much tragedy both in recent history, and in the distant past. This was the wand that had inspired his obsession with the Deathly Hallows. This was the Elder Wand.

He heard Minerva gasp next to him and he realised this was because she recognised it as 'Dumbledore's wand', but not as the Elder Wand. In his old age, Albus had taken to protecting and disguising his powerful wand. Whilst many others had advertised that they indeed, had mastered the unbeatable, legendary wand, he had kept it under wraps, seldom letting people have a good look at it. Not even Minerva had known the true nature of his wand.

Gingerly, Albus reached to take it: his fingers had only touched the handle when the room exploded in bright, golden light, giving them and the passers-by outside, a show of fireworks. Albus felt a sudden giddiness at being reunited with his old wand. It seemed that the Dumbledore of this world had died peacefully and in his sleep; the wand had been masterless for all these years and had seemingly deemed Albus a good enough match. It vibrated in answer to his theories and he smiled knowingly, being well acquainted with the Elder Wand's semi-self consciousness.

"Very good, very good!" Garrick exclaimed, clapping his hands, watching the last dregs of the fireworks sink over all surfaces, melting the frost that had previously befallen the entire store. Albus could still feel Minerva's eyes boring into him, silently demanding questions and he felt a sudden urge to tell her everything; confess who he really was.

He refrained though, for now, his only mission was to find the Horcruxes and defeat Tom once and for all; the more people became involved, the more he would endanger. Perhaps one day, when it was unavoidable, he would confess everything to her.

.

It took the pale and shocked Minerva McGonagall some time to convince that he could stay in the Alley a while longer and still find his way back to his muggle home. And when Albus finally did, using his usual sharp and precise language, he persuaded her to take the Floo back to Hogwarts. Eventually, he was left alone and to walk around as he pleased. Once or twice, he bumped into a student he knew from his Headmaster years, and remarked how much different it was to see them from this angle; after all it _had_ been a while since he had been a student himself.

Albus spent some more time in Diagon Alley, visiting shops that he had once frequented and wandering off to some more obscure parts of the area to get the more, ah, off-market supplies.

All around him he saw children doing their Hogwarts shopping, more often than not with their parents or friends. Conversations involving the words 'sorting' and 'quidditch' 'Hogwarts' often wafted to his ears and he found himself wondering what house the sorting hat would put him in. Even after all these years, he still wasn't quite sure how the Sorting Hat functioned. He had always theorised that it reflected one's soul back to oneself, showing each student what he _wanted_ to _become._ More often than not, the person in a certain house - a Gryffindor, for example - spent all the years at Hogwarts displaying no chivalry, pride or bravery. The sorting hat simply seemed to tell the students what virtues they valued most of all.

Albus had been sorted into Gryffindor the first time around, and yet, he found himself pondering what he valued now. Certainly not pride? For pride was what had led him to Gellert. No, certainly not. He valued knowledge, but also loyalty. Not for the first time, Albus let out a sigh of frustration. What he had originally thought would be an interesting ride, had become a long, never-ending, slow progression of events. He _needed_ his magic to mature so that he could finally start putting events into motion!

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he barely noticed the other, slightly shorter boy that he almost overran. They both ended up on the floor, massaging their sore heads.

"I do apologise!" Albus exclaimed, upon straightening himself and pulling the other boy to his feet.

"It's okay," the other boy said nervously and Albus recalled from memory that this was Neville Longbottom. The future Hogwarts student was still massaging his head when a smartly dressed, elderly woman, with an odd hat — was that a stuffed vulture?!

"My, my, what is going on here?" Augusta Longbottom asked, dusting off her grandson.

"I bumped into your grandson, I do apologise," Albus said as he started to recall her as a student. He remembered her having a petty rivalry with Minerva over transfiguration. The woman harrumphed and placed a hand on her grandson's shoulder whilst Neville cowered his head slightly. Albus frowned, remembering how timid the boy had been throughout his Hogwarts years.

"Hogwarts too, dear?" She finally asked, attempting to fill the awkward silence that had settled between them.

"Yes, first year," he replied, eying Neville who had just perked up upon hearing him say that.

"Oh, well then you'll be with Neville," Augusta continued, patting her son's shoulder. "We're hoping for Gryffindor, of course."

"I was unaware that students were sorted with their grandparents," Albus said with a deceptively light tone. Augusta's eyebrows drew together at the fashion with which Albus spoke to her.

"No, indeed not," she said slowly.

"Slytherin seems like a perfectly wonderful house too, don't you think Neville?" Albus continued in that same light tone. Neville seemed caught between his grandmother and Albus and he shrugged.

"Slytherin is the house of vices," Augusta said snootily, raising her nose into the air. Albus stared tragically at her, disbelieving that she could truly see no good in the serpent's lair.

"Though ambition is a vice," he said quietly to her watching as Neville hung onto every word he spoke. "It is often times the _cause_ of virtues," he paused, "And our lives are more tied to our vices and faults than our virtues." Memories of Ariana, of Gellert, of Abeforth of Severus and of ever other person he had ever failed swam to the forefront of his mind. Faults were what defined him.

Augusta's eyes narrowed as she stared at him, evidently deep in thought. Then without another word, her grip on Neville's shoulder tightened and she started moving away. But when Albus started to walk back up to the mouth of the Alley, he took one last look over his shoulder and found a smiling Neville staring right back.

.

Nicolas Flamel was an odd man, certainly, but nothing was odder than the company he kept on a regular basis. He was just escorting a large half-giant, half-goblin creature (with whom he'd spent the afternoon drinking) when he heard a tapping upon his study door. Frowning, he ascended the stairs to his open study, wherein he found a beautiful phoenix sitting atop his desk. A phoenix he knew all too well.

"Fawkes!" He cried out, approaching his desk and all of a sudden noticing a piece of parchment that the creature had dropped on a pile of parchment that was to become Nicolas' next research book.

He sat down in the plush chair and motioned the bird to climb onto his shoulder. Fawkes seemed particularly chippy — more content and at peace than Nicolas had seen him in a long time, certainly the happiest he had been since Albus' death. He wondered briefly if the phoenix had found a new master, and then instantly discarded that thought. Fawkes would never switch loyalties, even with a dead master.

 _Odd_ , he thought, fingers swiftly opening the envelope. Muggle paper. Who had Fawkes trusted enough to let them use him as a messenger — and why did this evidently magical person use muggle paper?

He gasped when he read the signature at the bottom of the page: it was signed as ' _your dear friend, Albus_ '. Nicolas almost instantly threw the letter out, but was quickly stopped by the thought that Fawkes now sat on his shoulder and there was no other person in the world who Fawkes would ever find worthy enough to deliver letters for other than Albus.

" _Dear Nicolas,_ the letter read. His eyebrows skyrocketed at seeing the familiar spidery script and emerald ink.

 _"I fear I will have to be quite blunt this time: I am Albus Dumbledore. Currently, I am inhabiting the body of one Harry James Potter, whose soul has long since dissipated. It is now, for the first time in years, that I have been able to reconnect with the wizarding world. As you are aware, I once left Harry with his muggle relatives in Surrey — it has proven to be a quite isolated area indeed! Only recently, did I even have my first taste of magic and that came in the form of my Hogwarts acceptance letter!_

 _Due to this, my muggle family has given me certain allowances; among them Fawkes, whom I can finally keep at my side (providing he does not expose himself to our neighbours) without fear that the muggles will do anything to him._

 _Despite Fawkes being a very trustworthy companion, I am hesitant to write any more - ah - sensitive information in my letter to you. I would very much like for us to meet and discuss certain topics. Tom Riddle will rise once more and I fear that I will need your help to defeat him once and for all. In the meantime, I beg you to remove the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts; I have it on good authority that a break-in at vault 713 will take place later this year._

 _I have instructed Fawkes to stay, should you want to make further inquiries._

 _Your dear friend,_

 _Albus_


	4. Return

I recommend you read this in 3/4 of the actual size. The text was formatted in a doc so it looks a little stretched out on ffnet.

Warnings: mentions of possible abuse, lots of magical theory, death, references to a lot of shit, long internal monologues, some philosophical theory bc I am that pretentious (also because I believe that is how Dumbledore, a highly intellectual individual, would think), etc. As the story progresses, I shall have to add more warnings.

A note for this chapter: _opinions stated in this chapter (and possibly all future chapters) from any of the characters do not reflect my own. They are simply my interpretation of the cognitive thought process that goes on in the characters' heads._

* * *

Minerva's own _Transfiguration Today_ magazine was open: it laid on her mahogany desk — a desk that had been used by numerous Headmasters and Headmistresses throughout history. She had religiously read this periodical throughout her teenage years and entire career and yet the edition that laid before her was uninspiring and had topics that had been regurgitated several times — save for one column. This particular column would tempt witches and wizards around the world to buy it, simply to have a chance to read the last words of Albus Dumbledore.

Her heart ached for her old mentor. He had been at times infuriating, but his kind disposition and mischievously twinkling eyes had very quickly made her fall in love with him. She had confessed her true feelings at last, when she had been a teacher at Hogwarts for several years already, serving as a transfiguration professor for the younger years and Albus for the older. In a gentlemanly way he had very softly rejected her, telling her that his heart belonged to another. Only years later, Albus had confided in her that he had only ever loved one man, Gellert Grindelwald.

"I hear you met young Harry today?" Questioned an exulted voice. Minerva turned in her seat to face Albus Dumbledore's portrait. Of course, he wasn't _really_ Dumbledore. Unlike most people (which Minerva supposed was a phrase that was as good a characterisation for Albus as any), Albus had not chosen to imbue his spirit in the painting; instead he had chosen to teach it how to speak, how to think like him and so on. *1

Whether in the flesh or as a portrait, Albus still seemed so omniscient hence her lack of an answer. "How was he?" The portrait asked after a moment and Minerva instantly knew that he was thinking of the Dursleys.

"Harry seemed… fine," she said slowly. Albus cocked his head to the side, unknowingly mimicking Harry. Or was Harry unknowingly mimicking Albus?

"Fine?"

"Very fine indeed, Albus." Her eyes narrowed in thought. "I was wrong in suspecting the Dursleys; they have been good too him." She sighed deeply, yet she couldn't shake off the feeling that she was missing something. In fact, now that she thought over it, where had Vernon been? She couldn't quite remember seeing him — or indeed any pictures of him in the foyer or living room. Was he out of the picture, excuse the pun.

"And his interests?" Albus prodded, his x-ray like gaze surveying her with the utmost interest.

"Oddly," she said with mirth, "Transfiguration. He seemed quite interested in the theory. And by Merlin, he's frighteningly intelligent, Albus — wise beyond his years!" She paused and her expression became stern. "He has the same regard for time as you, Albus," she said rather disapprovingly; sarcasm dripped off every word, something which was unusual for her. Albus had the decency to blush a little. " _Always_ late!" She exclaimed.

"Ah, but my dear Minerva, there is an immeasurable distance between late and too late!" Exclaimed Albus.

"Better three hours too soon than a minute too late," she countered with a smug twitch to her lips, and then turned around in her seat to continue reading her magazine. Albus dropped the matter, but had she turned to glance at him once more, she would have seen him pondering over this latest development.

.

The flesh-and-blood-Albus, a heavy sleeper by nature, was shocked awake when he heard a loud shriek downstairs in the hallway. Petunia. Groaning, Albus rolled over in his bed and took a glance at the clock — it was only seven o'clock. Groaning again, he shot Fawkes (who was perched on the back of the chair at the desk) a glare when the phoenix made a sound akin to laughter.

Pocketing his wand (though mindful that he was not yet allowed to use it), he put on his morning robe and spilled out onto the hallway in a mess of limbs and morning sleepiness. Dudley was standing at the top of the landing and was peering over the rail, down into the hallway below.

"Did Petunia find another mouse?" Albus said groggily. Dudley hardly spared him a glance, very used to Albus' morning grogginess by now.

"I think it's the mail," he replied. "I don't get how mail could be that exciting. As far as I can see it's all bills anyway," Dudley continued, yawning briefly and then disappearing back into his room with a mutter of 'back to bed'.

Albus found Petunia at the end of the hallway, walking slowly in the direction of the kitchen, eyes almost blurry due to the speed with which she was reading whatever letter had just arrived. "Aunt Petunia?" Albus called, worry lacing his voice. Regardless of all she had done to him in the past, he had found himself slowly warming up to her doting character.

She spun around, eyes wide with shock and with a small smile she offered him the letter. He took it after a moment.

" _Dear Mr Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Eton College on a full scholarship-"_ Albus read out loud and then continued silently to himself, only stopping once he had finished. When he finally saw Petunia's expectant expression, he smiled sadly and her face seemed to crash.

"I had thought-" she started uncertainly. Albus raised his hand and waggled his fingers, calling his magic to manifest. Almost instantly, a tendril of magic resembling flowing water coagulated into a small ball at the very centre of his palm. It floated there for a bit and then started interweaving between his fingers. A small gasp left Petunia's mouth.

"It is extraordinary that my academic success has been recognised by Eton College," Albus started kindly, knowing exactly how famous this school was in the muggle world. "But my true talent and heritage lays in magic and the wizarding arts."

"I lost my sister to your world," Petunia said darkly. "She sacrificed herself to your lot! To Evil!" Albus sighed deeply.

"Her sacrifice saved all of wizarding England and potentially a large portion of your muggle Isles too. One could argue that she died for the Greater Good, but even in this instance one has to recognise that Good and Evil are opposite points on a circle, and the Greater Good is just halfway back to Bad." Albus dropped his hand, and the tendrils of magic disappeared.

"It is impossible to say whether her sacrifice was good or bad, Petunia. She saved us all, but damned you and me. So we have to ask ourselves: whose happiness is of more importance, that of the several million people she saved or the three people she damned?" Albus shrugged — a gesture he was sure he had not done since his early twenties. "Evil and good, black and white, dark and light; these polar opposites cannot be measured in such simple terms. There is no right answer, Aunt."

Petunia looked lost. Albus leaned against the cupboard under the stairs that had long since become nothing more than that - a cupboard under the stairs and let out a deep breath. "What is done is done. Whether it was good or bad? I think we can leave that to the philosophers."

Petunia swallowed hard, looking as though she would very much like to burst into tears. "Spoken like a true utilitarian," she finally said with a snort and Albus' shoulders dropped in defeat, knowing that that was possibly an accurate description of himself - and possibly his greatest fault.

"You are my only link to her left," she finally said when he didn't answer. "Try to stay out of trouble, Harry."

Albus smiled, and like that, all the tenseness of the situation disappeared. "Oh you know me, Petunia, I always keep out of trouble." And with a wink, he swept past her into the kitchen.

.

It seemed that even now, years after Vernon had been imprisoned, a remnant of Petunia's prejudices towards wizarding folk still remained.

Albus, Dudley and Petunia were currently loading the wizarding trunk onto a trolly — Albus had already advised Fawkes to join him at Hogwarts so that they would be able to avoid the stares and crowds, something that saddened Dudley to no end as he had grown rather fond of the creature. As they neared the portal between the muggle world and the wizarding King's Cross, Albus saw an increasingly dirty look appear on Petunia's face.

He regarded her with interest, wondering why she truly held so much hate towards wizard kind. Had Vernon indoctrinated her that very much?

Dudley was positively beaming as they crossed the portal to the other side, taking in everything with childish awe that Albus now rarely saw in him. "Harry! Look — is that boy carrying a toad?" Dudley cried, pointing and oohing and ahhing.

"What did we say about pointing?" Albus asked, glancing down at the blond. Dudley ignored him in favour of bouncing around, continuing to ooh and ahh. Grinning at him, Albus lead the way to the trunk carriage. Easily picking the large trunk up (courtesy of a feather-light charm from Minerva) he stowed it in the carriage. Then picked up his travelling bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Petunia's eyes were suspiciously red as Dudley threw his arms around his cousin and Albus almost began suspecting her of actually feeling for him. He, in turn, tightly hugged his cousin back, and promised to write every week so that the muggle boy wouldn't miss a single aspect of his life.

"No smoking, no swearing, no-"

"Gangs, no alcohol before I'm of age. Yes, I get it Harry, 'be good'. It's not like you're leaving forever," Dudley said with a snort. Albus chuckled and ruffled his hair. Dudley pulled away indignantly. Even so, Albus saw tears prickling in the boy's eyes.

Once Dudley had disappeared into the masses ("Did you _see_ that? A tarantula? Oh my-") and had promised to come back in a few moments, Petunia turned to face Harry. The corners of her mouth had turned upwards slightly, and she was holding a suspiciously moist handkerchief.

"We have not always seen eye-to-eye," she began, but Albus interrupted her swiftly.

"Alas, we have not."

"But-" Her voice broke a little, and she very suddenly swooped down to hug him. Surprised, Albus' arms hovered in mid-air for a moment, uncertain how to proceed. Then he slowly placed his hands on her bony back. "Be safe," she whispered into his ear. A few moments later she separated herself from him and stepped back. Without another word, Albus turned and entered the familiar scarlet Hogwarts Express.

Being one of the last to board it, it took him some time to find a carriage that was not packed with students. He found one compartment at the very end which was completely empty. He pulled the door open and slumped rather ungracefully into one of the seats. Pulling his bag to him, he was surprised to find it heavier than it had previously been and upon opening it, found a large plastic bag, nearly bursting with sherbet lemons.

 _Odd_. That had not been there before.

Hesitantly, Albus pulled the bag out and examined it - they looked like legitimately real muggle sherbet lemons. And as far as he could tell, there weren't any enchantments on the drops; it wasn't like anyone was attempting to poison him. Oddly, the only other two people in this world who knew of his obsession with the muggle sweet, were Petunia and Dudley. Except —

Albus' head shot up in sudden realisation, both cognate and magical, as he had suddenly sensed a second presence in the compartment.

A man, whom he previously completely overlooked, sat opposite him, smiling widely. He was twirling a wand between his fingers. His hair was wavy and his eyes were a brilliant silver; a side-effect of the Philosopher's Stone, no doubt.

"Harry Potter," Nicolas Flamel stated, still grinning. "You always did have a knack for getting in trouble, didn't you Albus?" The wizard in question had almost launched himself at his ancient friend in silent delight, but refrained, and simply dropped the bag of sweets into his lap, eagerly opening it now that he knew from whom it came.

"Nicolas, it's so wonderful to see you again," Albus said so earnestly that even Flamel cocked his head a little, trying to discern wether or not he was being sarcastic.

"' _Again_ ' being an odd adverb of choice, as I remember quite clearly dropping your body into a coffin," Flamel said bluntly, not beating about the bush. Albus surmised that after six hundred years of life, there would come a time when even simple pleasantries became quite tedious indeed.

"Yes, a peculiar situation certainly." Albus was most-certainly beating about the bush, a quality he remembered that Nicolas hated. The alchemist was in-fact giving him a deadpan stare this very moment. "Would you mind…?" Albus asked, gesturing at the door. In one sweeping moment, Nicolas warded the door, making sure that no student would be able to overhear them.

"My magic will require a bit of practice to develop so fully once more," he said by way of explanation.

"Yes, about that - what exactly happened?" Nicholas was staring at him with distrust dancing in his eyes. To see that in his mentor was a frightening thing.

"I died at the age of 115 years atop of the Astronomy Tower, when I was cornered by Death-Eaters and finally killed by Severus Snape," Albus said in a deceptively light tone. "Then, four years ago, I woke up as one Harry James Potter; without a wand, without my developed magic, without proper adult cognitive function. From my observations I gleaned that the Dumbledore here died-"

"-four years ago," Nicolas finished for him, leaning in closer to observe Albus more fully.

"Exactly." He sighed. "This led me to believe that I had somehow ended up in a parallel universe and that Magic herself had intervened to balance out my existence in said universe with the Other Dumbledore's."

Nicolas hummed in agreement, and gestured Albus to continue. "This of course, gives me an advantage: as this isn't a permanent time-line and instead, in flux, I don't stand at the risk of deleting someone's future."

"Which means you can use your preexisting knowledge to win a war that hasn't even started yet," the alchemist easily concluded. Albus nodded and popped a sherbet lemon in his mouth.

"What prompted you to believe me?" Albus asked offering his companion a sweet, which he refused. Nicolas chuckled.

"My vault was broken into days after I emptied it."

"Ah, yes."

"Fawkes also made an impression. He seemed quite set on trusting you and demanding an answer from me. So finally I promised I would visit you on your way to Hogwarts," Nicolas laughed as a dawning expression crossed Albus' face. "It seems Fawkes is as mischievous as ever."

"That he is," Albus murmured as they descended into a companionable silence.

"You mentioned a Tom Riddle in your letter," Nicolas finally said, breaking the silence. Albus sighed as memories of that boy swam before his eyes. Only he was not a boy any-longer. Now, he was a spirit, probably in process of ensnaring Quirrell into his services. He wondered briefly if he would be at Hogwarts, as Tom's original motivation for being in there had been to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Now that it was secure elsewhere, where would Tom Riddle go?

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, is, as you know an anagram for 'I am Lord Voldemort'," he started. "In my time-line Tom's spirit found a victim in the from of Quirinius Quirrel. Possessing him, he took the post as the Defence of the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts and he attempted to steal the Philosopher's stone. Our very own Harry Potter defended it quite admirably.

"Tom spent the following years sneaking back into the school, attempting to regain a physical body. He was resurrected in 1995, when he concocted an elaborate plot to kill Harry and use his blood to counteract the protection that was his mother's sacrifice. Harry escaped yet again."

"Naturally," Nicolas said with an eye-roll. Albus chuckled darkly.

"Finally, he was exposed in the Summer of 1996, when I duelled him in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The Minister now had no grounds to continue ignoring the threat upon us. War begun in earnest and I deduced a massive secret that I had suspected for a long time."

Albus swallowed heavily and with his magic he probed the wards again, aware that he had only ever told one person the secret of the Horcruxes and that had been Harry himself. There was not a single soul other than Albus in this universe, who knew of the ways that Tom had mutilated his soul.

"When Tom Riddle was just sixteen years old, he created his first Horcrux in the form of a diary," Albus said bluntly, something that was very unlike him. Nicolas started blinking rapidly and his briefly stroked his short beard.

"His _first_?"

"Seven in all."

Nicolas let out a low whistle. "There is not a single shred of humanity or sanity left in him," the man scratched the back of his head for a moment, seemingly calculating something. "His last Horcrux would have been one-twenty-eighth of the original, if we presume that the soul is halves every time it is split." Again, Nicolas examined him, eyes finally resting on the scar that adorned Albus' forehead.

"And one-twenty-eighth resides in there," he murmured, gesturing with his chin at the scar. Albus' eyes twinkled.

"Sharp as ever, Nicolas." He clasped his hands together. "Fortunately, his last Horcrux was created in 1994 so, Harry's scar contains one-sixty-fourth-"

"-And you need my help to destroy it without killing you, correct?" Nicolas interrupted him swiftly, before Albus could run off on one of his rants detailing the theoretical aspects of the magic of Horcruxes.

"Precisely." Albus sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Maybe then I can do it better this time and… _deal_ with Tom sooner."

"You can't save everyone, Albus."

"Careful, Nicolas, you're starting to sound rather like me," when he received no answer, he looked up only to find that the world-renown Alchemist was gone.

It was only seconds later, that a knock sounded on the compartment door, jerking Albus out of his dark thoughts that threatened to overtake him. Hastily, he disentangled and took down the wards and was just in time as a moment after, a young witch threw the door open. Her intelligent eyes surveyed Albus and then dropped on the wand.

"Doing magic?" Hermione Granger asked excitedly, stalking into the compartment and taking the seat that Nicolas had just vacated. A timid Neville followed her in. Albus chuckled, eyes brightening at her eagerness. Neville smiled at him shyly and sat down when Hermione patted the seat next to her.

"Very much so!" He waved his trustworthy wand in a sweeping arch, mainly for show as he visualised the most fantastic bouquet. In an instant, the envisioned collection of flowers sprouted out of the tip of his wand. Catching it before it fell, he gave it to Hermione who blushed slightly upon accepting the gift.

"Brilliant!" Neville exclaimed, examining the bouquet with interest, and Albus remembered faintly that they boy had an affinity with plants.

"Oh! Neville, we've forgotten your toad!" Miss Granger suddenly exclaimed.

"His toad?" Albus questioned lightly.

"Trevor! We were looking for Trevor!" Neville's eyes were suddenly wide and preoccupied. "My gran will kill me if she finds out I've lost him again!"

"Ah, I very much doubt she would resort to such measures," Albus said kindly, completely missing the fatalistic sense of humour. "No matter! However, why must we search for Trevor like muggles." He continued in a whisper: "When we have _magic_!" He shot out of his seat and raced out into the hallway — which was now thankfully almost empty. The two other students followed close behind.

Turning towards Neville once more he asked: "Trevor was it?" The other boy nodded. Noting that the two first years were watching his every movement very closely, he once more raised his wand and intoned very carefully, " _Accio Trevor_!"

Whilst the _orchideous charm_ was something that required little skill, or magical power, only proper visualisation, the _summoning charm_ was a whole story altogether. It required one to stretch out one's magic, and let it, in turn seek for the object one wished to summon to oneself. It required every ounce of his concentration to manipulate his as of yet _still_ underdeveloped magic core to do his bidding. And when after several moments, nothing happened, he began to doubt that he had as good a control over his magic as he had originally thought.

But then, came a shout from ahead and they saw a fifth year student jump to the side in shock only for an abnormally large toad to streak right past him. Directing his wand at Neville's already open hands, he gently directed his magic to guide the amphibian into his hands. The boy's face instantly brightened. Hermione, however, while looking delighted, was also giving him an odd calculating stare.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she finally said, shaking Albus' hand. Neville grinned and nodded to him in greeting, as his arms were full with Trevor.

"My name's Neville Longbottom."

Even after four years as Harry Potter, Albus still had trouble calling himself as such and almost stumbled over the words. He halted for a moment and watched Hermione's frown grow. Finally: "My name is Harry Potter."

The gasps were instantaneous and he found himself instantly mildly irritated. In the four years he had lived with the Dursleys, he had become used to the sense of anonymity. It seemed Harry Potter had not had any during all of his years at Hogwarts. He only wished wizards were more tactful like muggles liked to be.

"Harry Potter!" Hermione reiterated and was about to continue with some sort of statement (presumably about how she had read about him) when she was very rudely cut off but a long drawl.

" _Harry Potter_? A _mudblood_ like you doesn't even deserve to say the name!" They had all turned in that instant to see Draco Malfoy sauntering up the hallway, flanked by two other future Slytherin boys. An instant hot rage flared up within Albus. His hate of prejudiced purebloods had originated when observing his father's utter regard for muggle lives when he attempted to kill the boys who had attacked his dear Ariana.

"You _dare_ call Hermione with that name?" His tone was light as ever, but there was a gravitas that instantly silenced the guffaws and the gasps of outrage coming from the compartments in the nearest vicinity (other first and second years who were watching on with scandalous expressions).

"You _dare_ ," Albus repeated. Calming himself, he stared directly at Draco who was looking defiantly back at him. His journey in this world had begun when Draco cornered him and disarmed him atop the Astronomy Tower; an innocent boy who had been taught to hate by those he had trusted.

"Who were Severus Snape's parents?" He finally asked the Malfoy. Draco swallowed heavily, but then fixed him with a glare.

"A Prince and a muggle," he licked his lips nervously now, knowing that he was in a precarious position.

"Would you saw he is any less powerful or intelligent than say, perhaps, your father?" Again, Draco seemed to be caught between the truth and what he had been brought up to believe.

"No," he said after several moments.

"And what of Harry Potter?" A small smile crossed Albus' lips when he saw Neville and Hermione both give him sidelong glance. "Would you call him a _mudblood_?"

"Of course not!" Draco looked a little panicked now. He started looking around, seemingly wondering if Harry Potter was anywhere in sight.

"Alas! But his father was a pureblood and his mother a muggleborn-"

"-But he's _Harry Potter_!" Draco interrupted him, sounding a tad hysterical. He, like all the other children of the wizarding world had been brought up on the stories of _Harry Potter: The Creature Vault_ , or _Harry Potter: The Yeti_ , that told of his heroism. Even in a dark wizarding household, these books and these stories would have been inescapable.

"You agree then, that intelligence, power, has to be proven on basis of the person's ability and not his or her blood?"

Draco hung his head in defeat, and yet, when Albus managed to hold eye-contact for a brief moment and reach out with his magic to skim over the surface of his turbulent emotions and mind, he found defiance prominently standing out. Pulling out of his mind and sighing, Albus realised that eleven years of prejudice would not be undone in one five minute conversation.

Albus was stunned when a few seconds later, Draco reached out with a hand. "Draco Malfoy," he said self-assuredly. He was now gazing at Albus with a scrutinous look, like one might when one finds a worthy opponent.

Harry took the hand and with a wink and a twinkle in his eye and said: "Harry Potter."

The rest of the ride towards Hogwarts was as uneventful as a train without adult supervision and several hundred hormonal children with magic could be. Albus somehow managed to skip from compartment to compartment, meeting his new fellow year mates. He met an interesting boy named Wayne Hopkins who he found out, had only recently recuperated from a severe case of _Dragon Pox_.

This had thrown him into a fresh trip down memory-lane: on his very first ride to Hogwarts, he had found himself suddenly sitting with Elphias Doge, who like Wayne had just recently had the very same illness. No single person had sat with Elphias Doge that day due to fear of being contaminated and it had allowed Albus and him to cement a life-long friendship.

Not for the first time, Albus found himself wondering what had happened to his dear friend. He and Elphias had gone through much together. They had lived through two wars and had even played chess via owl mail when long distances were between them. He had been the single sole person who had never been awed by Albus' magical ability, brushing it off like it was just another natural happenstance.

He had also spoken briefly to a Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, who while both very pleasant in nature, had too been indoctrinated with the doctrine that _might, was right_. And as such, Albus ended up walking down to the boats in an intense conversation with Lisa Turpin about whether or not Gilderoy Lockhart deserved the _Ravishingly Outstanding Bevy of (fashionable) Ensembles (ROBE)_ award for best clothing style of the year.

Soon enough, Albus sat in a boat with three other students that he recognised as Ronald Weasley, Kevin Entwhistle and Daphne Greengrass. He sat there, ignoring all other conversations as he stared in peace at the wonderful castle that loomed above them. He heard several gasps from muggleborns and purebloods alike, as they stared ahead in childish wonder.

Hogwarts. He had spent his childhood there, all of his teenage years and had then returned as a seasoned wizard, having fought in the war and had then served at at the school for another sixty or so years. If there was anything that he could compare with a home, then it was Hogwarts. The familiar magic of the castle swept over him as they crossed the sturdy wards and he felt his magic singing in response to that.

The castle's sentient magic probed at him too, evidently seeing something familiar in him. Albus' core hummed with pleasure and he felt a foreign jolt of surprise coming from the castle as it — or rather, _she_ — realised exactly who he was. Then, all of a sudden, before Albus could reacquaint himself with the castle, there sounded a loud scream, followed by a splash and lots of gasps and spluttering.

The boat with Ronald, Kevin, Daphne and himself was a little ahead the rest of the little cluster of first years and as such they had to turn to see what the commotion was about. Instantly upon seeing what was going on, a small smile creeped onto Albus' face. Just a few feet behind their boat, two other of the old, rickety wooden things had completely overturned and Hagrid was now attempting to fish the first years out of the water, pun fully intended.

The Giant Squid was what had prompted so many screams and gasps of surprise. It had evidently risen out of the water and was attempting to push the first year students back into, or rather, onto their overturned boats. Evidently the Merpeople were having their fun again. Albus realised that he would have to give them a stern talking to. Whist Minerva seemed like an exceptional Headmistress of Hogwarts, she simply did not know how to speak Mermish.

It took them several moments to get to shore, and several others to warm the soaking students up. Albus was eventually forced to mutter several drying spells under his breath and direct his wand upon his fellow students. They all gasped in surprise when they noticed how dry and warm they suddenly were, unknowing where the magic had come from. And from the small, speculative glance Miss Granger gave him, Albus felt as though he hadn't been as discreet as he had thought he'd been.

Then, Filius arrived — now the Deputy Headmaster — and gave them a small speech about house unity, which sounded to Albus very much as though Minerva had conjured it.

And then, _finally_ they crossed the Entrance Hall, and entered the Great Hall, where the Sorting Hat now sat on the stool, staring ominously at the group of first years. Gazing up at the sky above them, Albus allowed his eyes to shut for a moment or two as he drank the magic in. Regardless of what house he would be placed in, and what the future would bring, he could honestly say that he had not felt this at peace for many, many years.

And so with a skip in his step, Albus and the rest of the first years approached the ragged-looking old hat.

.

Elsewhere, in darkness, a spirit swayed gently in the breeze. It was only very faintly present in this world. It was but a fragment of a soul that had once inhabited this realm, but now no longer had a good hold on it. And yet, a darkness so powerful surrounded it, that the very forest around it, had begun to rot. This darkness permeated the air, the soil and the trees. It seeped through every crack, like a magical stream of water.

And out of this darkness, emerged a figure; a wizard judging by his long robe that swept the forest floor. He was dressed in a thick traveling robe and had a weathered rucksack slung over one shoulder. The wizard was whistling, completely unaware of the danger he was putting himself in. Then, pulling out a map, he frowned when he saw that the little red dot that was supposed to him, now stood in the opposite direction in which he had wanted to walk.

Shrugging, he tucked the map back into his bag and turned to go back to his original standing point, when he was stopped by the sight of a shadow of a man standing suspended before him. The shroud of darkness was partly translucent and looked like some sort of Dementor from another world.

Quirinius Quirrell's lower lip trembled slightly as he flicked his wrist to the side. Almost instantly, a wand appeared in his hand. Very slowly, he raised it, pointing it directly at…. whatever this thing was.

"Quirinius Quirrell…" The shadow spoke slowly, almost in a hiss. Quirrell's hold on his wand tightened to the point that his knuckles became white with tension.

"Who are you? I demand you tell me who you are!" He called forcefully, feeling like he was anything but that. The shadow seemed to chuckle in sadistic mirth.

"My name is irrelevant…" Again, it's voice was a hiss and seemed so very out-of-this-world. Then, all of a sudden, two eyes seemed to pop out from the darkness, red and bright with power. "But I _remember_ who _I_ am!" With that hiss, the figure lunged at Quirinius.

* * *

Yes, so to equate the balance, _Magic_ too transported Voldemort to this time-line. *rubs hands together* I'm enjoying torturing y'all like this, bet you thought this would be a 'Albus-improving-canon' fic? You thought wrong! HA!

*1 literally a fact in the wikia.

Pretty much all facts in this story are historical facts or from the Harry Potter wikia.


	5. Remembrance

There was something surreal in entering the Great Hall once more. Everything was much the same; the ceiling still reflected the night sky, hundreds, if not thousands of candles hung suspended in mid-air, eager students sat at tables… and yet, there was an unmistakable air of uncommon anticipation present in the air. Albus realised with a start that this was because of him.

Hundreds of little faces gawked at the first years as they crossed the Great Hall, most staring up at the ceiling with awe, Albus among them. It was very hard not to think back to his own Sorting almost a hundred years ago. The sky above them was glittering with stars — already a contrast to his own Sorting, as he remembered quite clearly that it had been pouring rain that day.

Turning his gaze back to the Head Table at which sat the teachers, Albus cocked his head to the side as he regarded them in a completely different light. It was odd to see Minerva sitting at what would have usually been _his_ chair. The seat directly to her right was empty — Filius would return there as soon as the Sorting was over.

Said Charms professor was standing right next to the stool, atop which sat the Hat.

"Good evening," Minerva said, unmistakably casting a _sonorous_ charm on herself. In an instant, all chatter in the Hall ceased and all heads were turned in her direction. Albus allowed himself a small, fond smile. Minerva had always had the skill to silence anyone with simply her voice and stern gaze.

"To our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…" Minerva started. Her gaze swept over the entire student body in that stern way of hers. He had no doubt that she was an impeccable Headmistress.

"I am sure you are all very impatient to begin our banquet." She turned her meaningful gaze at the Gryffindor Table which was known for their excessive consumption of food and parties. "So without further ado, let the Sorting begin!"

Minerva gave Filius a prompting nod and sat down elegantly. Albus had the sudden realisation that she very much belonged in the place where she now sat. A man leaned over to her to whisper something and with a start, Albus recognised him. Horace Slughorn was a professor at Hogwarts again?! Anxiously looking to and fro, trying to recognise the other faces, he saw no stern-looking man with greasy locks of hair and dark, serious eyes. Where was Severus?

" _I've done this job for centuries_

 _On every student's head I've sat_

 _Of thoughts I take inventories_

 _For I am the famous Sorting Hat_

 _Perhaps in Slytherin do you belong_

 _Cunning and ambition must you have_

 _Pure of blood as the legend goes_

 _So put me on and let me see_

 _If Slytherin is your house to be_

 _Or maybe in Hufflepuff will you attain_

 _A calling just true to you_

 _Within the kitchens beneath the dome_

 _Will you be lucky to find_

 _Another House away from Home_

 _Ravenclaws as studious as they may be_

 _Value intelligence above all else_

 _In their books they find much leisure_

 _and etched upon the diadem is this phrase:_

 _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_

 _Chivalrous and brave should you be_

 _If in the House of the Griffin do you belong_

 _Crimson and Gold will you wear_

 _Proud and honest will you stand_

 _If in Gryffindor do you land_

 _So put me on if you dare_

 _Perhaps loyalty or cunning do you possess_

 _Or courage or intelligence are your traits_

 _Regardless of which Hogwarts House is yours_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will always be your home."_

Raucous applause exploded once the Hat had finished his song. It tipped the tip of his head a few times to bow at them all. Albus found himself clapping along with the entire student body; he so enjoyed it's poems!

"A Hat!" Ronald Weasley whispered to himself. "I'm gonna kill Fred and George," he mumbled a little more quietly.

"Didn't they say it was going to be a troll?" Neville Longbottom whispered back a little timidly. Miss Granger, who had spent this entire time lecturing to Padma Patil on how the ceiling was the way it was, rolled her eyes at Ronald.

"You didn't honestly believe that, did you?" She said a little haughtily. Albus chuckled a little at their antics.

Blaise Zabini shushed him.

"…Now, when I call your names," Filius was saying. He was now holding the hat in one hand and a scroll with names in another. "You will come forth and the Sorting Hat will sort you into your houses."

"Abbott, Hannah!" The timid young girl scrambled up to the hat, gazing at all of them anxiously. The hat dropped over her eyes and a few seconds later it yelled out a loud 'HUFFLEPUFF!"

Susan Bones and Terry Boot were sorted into Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively. A Lavender Brown was the first Gryffindor to be sorted and received a loud cheer. Vincent Crabbe was sent to Slytherin and Michael Corner to Hufflepuff. The Sorting was happening exactly at it had last time until something very extraordinary happened.

In an odd turn of events, Neville Longbottom took several more minutes than he had the first time and was then sorted into Hufflepuff. With a cheery smile, the young man jumped off the stool and stumbled over to the table that greeted him heartily. Albus wondered why the Hat's decision had changed this time around. Had _he_ made an impact on the young man?

The beady-eyed Pansy Parkinson was swiftly sorted into Slytherin and then—

"Potter, Harry!"

In an instant, the cheering quieted and the whispers began. As Albus made his way towards the hat, he caught a few snatches of conversation:

"…Harry Potter — _the_ Harry Potter?!"

"…thought he was six feet…"

"…his eyes… oh, they're so beautiful Meryl…"

"…overrated, if you ask me…"

"…Lockhart can't top that smile…"

Albus smiled genially at everyone staring at him and automatically nodded at a few people he knew to be Aurors and such in the future. A seventh year Nymphadora Tonks was amongst them. She was sporting wonderful sky-blue hair this evening.

Approaching Filius, Albus bowed his head in greeting and sat upon the stool. He had a second to view the entire student body before him, before the hat dropped over his eyes.

" _Interesting…. very interesting_ ," was the first comment he heard.

" _Pray, do tell_ ," Albus replied in a dry tone. The Hat hummed and continued digging through Albus' mind. He allowed some of his Occlumency Barriers to fall to allow the Hat access to his memories. Some, darker and more tainted memories remained behind iron clad gates of steel.

" _Albus Dumbledore from the past… is Harry Potter, my my,"_ the hat continued sifting through his memories. Some of the most prominent ones were of Dudley and himself doing various activities together.

" _You_ do _seem to know how to get into trouble, Albus,_ " the Hat commented cheerfully. Albus shrugged with one shoulder. " _And when you_ do, _in occasion, get into trouble, it is very deep trouble that you get into._ " Albus almost had the urge to roll his eyes.

" _Very pleased to see you too, Hat_ ," Albus replied. He could almost feel the Hat's eye-roll in his mind.

" _To business,_ " the Hat began, now a tad more serious. " _You have undoubtedly seen the changes already._ "

" _My alternative's death and Severus' absence, to only name a few._ "

" _Exactement,_ " the Hat said in a terrible parody of a French accent. (Albus heard a loud, disapproving harrumph from the Hat at his comment — after all, the Hat _was_ in his head this very moment.)

" _Snape—_ "

" _Professor Snape,_ " Albus interrupted automatically.

" _—_ _Snape,_ " the Hat said pointedly, causing Albus to actually roll his eyes at the pettiness. " _Retreated back from public life after your alternative's death. He never taught at Hogwarts. Instead, he now writes potions textbooks._ " The Hat's tone of voice heavily implied that he disapproved of this decision, particularly now that he had Albus' memories of a different life wherein the man had become a professor.

Albus sighed sorrowfully; he had come to love Severus as a sort of son. His decisions had often led him from the path of moral goodness, but in his heart, the man was truly a hero. His ultimate show of loyalty to Albus had made itself shown upon the the Astronomy Tower when Severus struck him down with the Killing Curse.

He wondered where Severus' loyalties now lay. The man had, after years and year, found it within him to forgive Albus for not properly protecting Lily and her son. He wondered whether Severus would find it within himself to forgive him now.

" _I distinctly remember Mr. Longbottom being Sorted into Gryffindor,_ " Albus stated. The Sorting Hat made a hum that resembled a garbled 'indeed?' and he proceeded to sort through Albus' memories of the alternate Sorting of the year of 1991.

" _Oh, so it seems. Mr. Longbottom was a Gryffindor. Why ever did I do that_?" The Hat seemed genuinely perplexed.

" _Oh well_ ," the Hat continued. " _We must move on with your Sorting, dear Albus._ " The 'dear' was spoken with such sarcasm that Albus was almost reminded of Severus.

 _"_ _Indeed, we must,_ " Albus replied somewhat blandly. The Hat had always been able to bring out his less favourable side. He supposed that was its whole purpose, in a way.

The Hat shuffled through his memories, murmuring soft noises to himself. Sometimes of interest, sometimes of disgust. When it finally reached the tall gates that secured Albus' most terrifying memories, the Hat snorted in disapproval.

" _My opinion of you won't change because of your memories,_ " the Hat said snottily. Albus swallowed heavily as he tried not to think of the memories that were held under lock and key behind those metaphorical gates.

" _It is not your opinion I fear_."

There was a long moment of silence while the Hat contemplated Albus' words.

 _"_ _You fear the temptation to power that those memories will ignite within you, should you reveal them to anyone else,_ " the Hat said in an uncommonly serious tone. Albus winced slightly. Nail, head — that sort of thing. Again, the Hat hummed.

" _Not very Slytherin of you to be conscious of such a temptation… not very Gryffindor either,_ " the Hat continued musing. Albus began wondering whether his Sorting would ever be over.

" _Certainly studious enough… however…_ " the Hat trailed off. " _If we Sort you on the basis of your values instead of what traits you possess, which I suppose this late in your life is of more importance, you can only be… HUFFLEPUFF_!"

The Hat was taken off his head and Albus had to blink a few times and wait for his eyes to adjust to the bright light in the Great Hall before they zeroed on the Hufflepuff table that was cheering without abandon. The Hall had broken out in whispers. Albus could only imagine what they were saying: Harry Potter, a Hufflepuff?

He thanked Filius with a smile and a twinkle in his eye and cheerfully walked over to the Hufflepuff table. He received a few slaps on the back and a few more cheers before Filius was forced to quiet them all down.

"Very glad to have you in our house, Potter!" said an older-looking boy sitting a few seats over. Albus recognised him as the Hufflepuff fifth year Prefect, Gabriel Truman.

"I am very glad to be here," Albus replied brightly and instantly was greeted with various warm smiles.

"Me gran will be so disappointed," Neville whispered to him. He was gazing at his lap sadly. Albus, who had sat down next to him and across Ms. Abbott, placed a placating hand on his shoulder.

"She will be proud of whomever you turn out to be. Hufflepuff is just as great as any other house."

"Hear hear!" exclaimed a young Cedric Diggory as he raised his glass high into the air prompting a few other Hufflepuffs to shush him so as not to disturb the Sorting ceremony.

"I'm Susan Bones," said the awkward red-headed girl. Albus inclined his head in greeting.

"She and I grew up together—" the young man next to Ms Bones said with a grin. "I'm Wayne Hopkins and that's Justin Finch-Fletchley."

"Ernest," another boy introduced himself. They all exchanged how-do-you-dos.

"Zabini, Blaise," Filius called loudly. The last first year standing in the middle of the Hall, gracefully, with that air of aristocracy sat down on the stool and was quickly proclaimed to be a Slytherin.

The feast began with the customary moans of pleasure and gasps of shock from the muggleborn students. Albus eagerly loaded his plate with wonderful culinary masterpieces… oh how he had missed the food at Hogwarts!

"I _knew_ Potter'd be a 'Puff — I told you didn't I Marta," the Fat Friar said loudly, approaching the end of the Hufflepuff table at which Albus sat. On his arm hung one of the three Gloomy Nuns that resided at Hogwarts.

"You never said anything of the sort," Marta retorted causing some giggles to erupt at their table. Albus allowed himself a small smile.

"Now see Harry — can I call you that? — I hear you grew up with muggles?" Anthony Goldstein said, disdain colouring his features. Albus frowned lightly, he hadn't thought that hate of muggles had been so prominent during Harry's career at Hogwarts. It seemed, he had been somewhat out-of-touch with his own students.

"Yes I did. My aunt and my cousin, both muggle," he said joyously. Goldstein pursed his lips and turned away to talk to Neville.

"It's all very odd isn't it? Talking hats, flying candles — even ghosts!" Justin exclaimed. Albus remembered that they boy was muggleborn. This was probably a large culture-shock for him.

"Wait 'till you see Quidditch," Ernie Macmillan said with a laugh.

"Quidditch?" Justin said wearily, testing out the word. Ernie launched into a long description of the game, captivating Hannah Abbott's attention too.

"Are you any good at flying, Harry?" Susan asked awkwardly. Albus smiled encouragingly at her.

"Muggle-raised I'm afraid. No flying there." They left it at that.

The feast proceeded in a similar fashion; the first years exchanged names, stories and experiences of the magical world so far. The older years weren't shy in giving them advice about various teachers or subjects.

(" _Watch out for Slughorn — you don't want to be invited to one of his parties!"_ )

And once their bellies were full, and their throats watered, Minerva finally stood and bid them all good night. With enthusiasm and cheerfulness, the large group of 'Puffs, followed the Prefects (Gabriel Truman and Bridget Wenlock) down to the basement of the school — right next to the kitchens.

"Congratulations! I'm prefect Gabriel Truman, and I'm delighted to welcome you to HUFFLEPUFF HOUSE!" the young man exclaimed. Bridget promptly introduced herself.

"Our house is that of loyalty and hard workers," Bridget continued. "You'll find that we do not impose any rules on our own, like the Slytherin house or the Ravenclaws. Enjoy Hogwarts and benefit from it as much as you can!"

"Now, to the entrance," Gabriel said with a conspiratorial grin. He glanced around theatrically, as though trying to spot a non-Hufflepuff lurking about.

"The entrance to the common room is located in a nook on the right hand side of the kitchen corridor, concealed behind that stack of barrels." He gestured at the little Hobbit-like alcove.

"In order to reveal the entrance, no password is required. Instead, one must tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', which will make the lid swing open, exposing a passageway that will lead to the basement when crawled through," Bridget said. She pulled out her wand and performed the movements and a door was revealed. "Like so!"

"However," Gabriel now spoke with a vindictive glint in his eye. "If the wrong lid is tapped or the wrong rhythm is used, the intruder will be doused in vinegar and barred access."

The first years exchanged anxious glances.

"Shall we?"

The small group of first years crawled through the passage ways and into the Hufflepuff common room.

It was round and earthy and low-ceilinged; it felt sunny, and its circular windows had a view of rippling grass and dandelions. There was a lot of burnished copper about the place, and many plants, which either hung from the ceiling or sat on the windowsills. The warm light suffused the place with the feeling of home and welcoming. Overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in yellow and black littered the areas. Small study tables were already covered with books. And along the curved walls, stood majestic bookshelves with fiction books. It looked very much like what one would imagine a Hobbit's home looked like.

"The Hufflepuff Common room!" Gabriel announced. Various other students had arrived already and they were smiling the group of first years, eagerly waving them in.

"Now remember, your House is like your family, and will be so for the next seven years. our Head of House, Professor Pomona Sprout, is Head of Herbology: if you have any questions, she's available at any time, simply tell that portrait there (Bridget gestured at a portrait of a wizened old wizard) that you need help, and she'll come. Girl's dormitories on the left and boys on the right, any questions?"

Very quickly the students dispersed to their various dorms and Albus was left standing in the Common room. As he stood there, he realised how correct the Hat had been in Sorting him in this house. In his previous life, he had been somewhat more prideful and chivalrous. He had been brave without inhibition. Gryffindor had been his perfect fit. However, as he looked at the various students littering the room and the overall warmth with which he had been greeted, he realised that this was the perfect little place for a tired old man who by now dreamt only of love, loyalty, family and friends.

.

"Mummy — a letter! From Harry!" Dudley cried as he crossed the threshold into Number Four. He held an envelope sealed with a wax sigil high above his head. Just before the door closed behind him, Petunia, who had been dusting the photographs in the hallway, caught sight of a flash of fire. No doubt, Fawkes.

"He promised to write every week," Petunia said with a small shrug. Dudley deposited his school rucksack in the little alcove under the stairs. He cracked the seal and pulled out a long letter written in emerald ink and with Harry's incredibly mature and spidery handwriting.

"Well go on, read it!" Petunia said with a laugh as she turned to her son, hands on her hips.

" _Dear Dudley (and of course, Aunt Petunia),"_ Dudley read aloud, lips already stretching into a smile.

 _"_ _You must forgive me for not writing earlier. The last two days have been so hectic I felt as though I had been placed in a children's daycare of sorts! Oh, Dudley, you would love it here: the taste of magic in the air, the castle, the other students, and the teachers… it is all so magnificent! I miss you dearly, cousin dearest and I wish you were here to experience all of this alongside me._

 _Upon arriving at Hogwarts, I was sorted into the warmest House of them all, right below the kitchens, we have almost exclusive access to our occasional midnight cocoa! I think you would do well in this House as well._

 _Our classes, whilst fascinating and extremely engaging, are tough_ (Petunia gave a disbelieving cough. Harry never found anything 'tough'). _My professors do not shy away from giving us assignments that keep me up until late at night, writing essays on this or that theory. I share my rooms with various other students, but Neville Longbottom in particular seems to understand my thirst for knowledge and he has taken to discussing various topics of that fashion with me._

 _Fawkes is immensely happy to finally be able to fly free and simultaneously be by my side. He very much likes stealing bacon from other students' plates — fortunately they have not yet figured out to whom they should complain!_

 _I trust Smeltings has been an interesting experience so far? Have you gotten in trouble all ready? I hope not. Are you doing your homework?"_ The next few questions inquired his wellbeing and his progress in school and in his karate lessons. An adorable little blush had even started to develop over Dudley's rosy cheeks.

" _I love you, dear cousin. Lots of love to you and Petunia, Harry._ "

There was a second letter tucked in the envelope, addressed only to Petunia. She quickly tucked it into her pocket, eager to shake off Dudley's interest in it. The boy sighed and trudged into the kitchen for his supper. Petunia smiled after him, as her thoughts turned to her nephew and she wondered where this family would be, had it not been for Harry's interference all those years ago.

* * *

Have I mentioned how much I love writing Albus? That's probably the reason I have started writing another Albus-centric fanfiction. It's called Cassandra's Gift and it's about Harry and Albus' friendship that develops when Harry, a seasoned professor of DADA appears in the past (1944) and befriends Albus and Flamel. I think it's my most original work so far... and I actually have a well thought out plan for it. XD

In any case, I apologise for the long wait between chapters; I was a little busy with my school film club (of which I am - was - the head), my graduation from school, and applications to university. Currently, I am venting my frustrations by writing an abundance of fanfictions as I try to cope with the panic of finding a flat. I have about two more weeks until University starts and I have not yet found a flat. HALP.

Also, the sorting hat's song was written by moi (except the first four lines) and features in Cassandra's Gift as well (huh, I'm not going to write _two_ sorting hat songs...!). I'm just that creative lmao


	6. Resurrection

" _Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe,_ " chanted a voice that sliced through the autumn fog. It was cold and high and merciless. So lacking of feeling, that it sent chills down the spines of the dead.

There was a faint, blunt sound of something fleshy hitting something metal and a gasp rang out. The man standing by the large cauldron clutched the arm to his chest and the pain caused Voldemort to have a momentary lapse of control over the man's actions.

" _Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken_ ," Voldemort repeated, sounding particularly joyous about this part of the spell. Qurinius was forced to reach into the inside of his robe by the _thing_ at the back of his head that was controlling his every action and then found himself pulling out a vial with a bright and light liquid-like smoke within.

His fingers trembled as he unstoppered it and the-whatever-it-was slipped out and gently swayed in the wind until it was consumed by the steam rising from within the cauldron. Foreign pleasure rose within him and Quirinius felt like he wanted to vomit.

"I think Harry Potter's soul should work, don't you think?" Voldemort said out the back of his head. The instant he said that Quirinius felt dread — his own — overcome him. Harry Potter's soul?! Voldemort had Harry Potter's soul!

Qurinius, who had little control over his own actions wanted to escape, but only a small stuttered 'help' rang out. The cruel laugh that rang out of his own mouth was foreign and not his own. Voldemort had completely taken over, leaving little room for independent thought.

And then it happened: Qurinius felt something within him crack and then he felt unbearable pain as though someone had just ripped something apart. He collapsed to the ground and writhed there for a moment or two, and when his mind finally cleared (and he was so glad to be himself again!), he found himself staring into two impossibly red eyes.

Voldemort had arisen again.

Those two red eyes and the following flash of green were the last things he saw before darkness completely overtook him.

.

Albus felt slightly inadequate upon waking up in the Hufflepuff dorm room; he had spent much of his time at Hogwarts waking up to the navy undertones in his bedroom adjacent to his office, that to now wake up in a room decorated with earthly tones and four other boys, was quite a jarring experience. His thoughts briefly turned to the crimson red curtains in the Gryffindor dorm rooms and he let out a sigh of relief when he realised that he wouldn't have to see them again. After all, it hadn't exactly been a mistake when he had set them on fire in his fourth years.

So upon waking, he spent some time trying to shake the other boys awake (to no avail) and eventually made his way down to breakfast where he received his timetable from one Pomona Sprout. He smiled at her warmly and she greeted him with a pat on his shoulder and a 'we're glad to have you here, Mr Potter'.

Newspapers were already laid out on the tables and although Albus had promised himself he would try to stay out of the affairs of the _Daily Prophet_ the title 'Harry Potter: A Hufflepuff?', did catch his eye. Not many students had arrived yet, but those who had, glanced sympathetically at him. Plastered upon the front page was also a picture of him, happily conversing with Neville as they got up from dinner that night. Albus wondered how Rita Skeeter had gotten her hands on a picture from the feast.

 _Harry Potter, is at last at Hogwarts! My sources reveal that The-Boy-Who lived arrived at the Hogwarts Express in a good mood and quickly befriended several of his future classmates. A confrontation was reported on the train, but details were unfortunately not released. Upon arriving at Hogwarts, the students were brought to the Sorting Ceremony and to this author's surprise, Mr. Potter was sorted into Hufflepuff! …_

The article went on in a similar fashion as Rita Skeeter explained how and why Harry Potter was destined for Gryffindor and what influence this would have on his fellow students. She also went on to discuss various conspiracies and on tampering with the Sorting process and how Minerva McGonagall was an incompetent Headmistress. This particularly, caused Albus' hands to ball up in frustration and annoyance.

Glancing up at the Head Table, he found that most of the teachers had not arrived yet. Horace was cheerfully drinking his tea with scotch as was customary for him, whilst Pomona relayed the morning news to him. The only other teachers up were Silvanus and Aurora, who were intensely discussing some topic or other.

Albus quietly sipped his tea, glancing over the newspaper in vague disinterest. After all, he had already seen most of these headlines once before. Setting it down, he turned his thoughts to more serious topics. For one, now that he had finally immersed himself into the wizarding world, he could now finally begin… _meddling_ somewhat. For one, Sirius Black had to be broken out (legally of course) from Azkaban, and perhaps secondary right now, the Horcruxes had to be found and destroyed, before Voldemort ever had a chance to resurrect.

He had no particular need for Sirius as Petunia provided him with good guardianship, but it would not hurt to have a magical guardian for now; especially since technically all muggleborns and orphans were guardians of the Headmaster, or Headmistress. It would be nice to be somewhat more independent from a system that could not help but be influenced by the ministry. And of course, it was not correct for a man who was innocent to wallow in such a terrible prison.

The problem, however, was that there was no way for him to know who his godfather was and _why_ he was innocent. However… as it so happened, Albus found the solution to that problem very quickly:

For Remus Lupin had just tiredly entered the Great Hall.

Almost on instinct, Albus greeted him a smile and a 'good morning Remus!', but he managed to refrain and instead smiled as the man passed by, briefly raising two fingers to his head as though tipping his hat to a senior. For a moment Remus stared at him, then recognition crossed his face and he swallowed heavily. Recovering quickly, the man smiled back.

"Good morning." His voice sounded weak. Probably attempting to appear objective, at least in public, Remus crossed the Hall and plopped down in his seat at the Head Table. Evidently he had not been expecting to be confronted with the son of his best friend quite so early.

The absence of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at the feast now made perfect sense: last night had been a full moon and Remus had been… otherwise occupied. It also explained the man's haggard appearance this morning: the dark circles under his eyes, the unruly hair, and the tiredness.

"'Morning'," Neville groaned, plopping down next to Albus. He was rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly. "Merlin, how long did that pillow fight—"

"It was well into the early morning when we all got in our beds," Albus said with a short laugh. Indeed, the Hufflepuffs had engaged in a huge pillow fight in the common room the previous night, eventually concluding it by venturing into the kitchens for a cup of hot cocoa before sleep. As Headmaster he had never even thought of the possibility of the polite 'Puffs actually engaging in something like that. It had been a pleasant surprise.

"How are you even awake — and in such a good mood?!" Neville buried his head in his arms. Albus' lips quirked into a small smile.

"My dear Neville, we're learning magic today!"

"The Ravenclaw table is right there," Neville mumbled into his arms, briefly jerking his head at the table of the Ravens. A few more students had trickled in during their conversation.

"Mr. Longbottom, your timetable." They both turned to look at the source of the voice and found that Neville's timetable was floating in the air and the source of the voice was actually the envelope's lips. Neville stared at it for a moment or two longer than strictly necessary and then sent Pomona (who was waving her wand from the Head Table) a thankful smile. He wrinkled his nose at seeing that their first lesson was Potions. Then he set it to the side.

"Oh, look. You're face is all over the front page," Neville remarked upon seeing Albus' discarded newspaper. Albus almost groaned. Neville's eyes quickly skimmed over the text, snorting in derision a few times. He had just lifted his hand to turn to the next page, when the whole paper went up in flames.

"Merlin!" the boy yelped out in shock. Even Albus blinked in surprise when it was revealed who the culprit was:

Fawkes now innocently sat on Albus' plate, eating his bacon without a care in the world. Neville stared in shock. Others in the Hall, who had been witnesses to the _Daily Prophet's_ disappearing act, also now gasped in awe. After all, it wasn't a daily occurrence to be privy to a phoenix's appearance.

"Is that an actual phoenix?" gasped Ernest upon joining them for breakfast. He was quickly followed by Megan Jones, Susan, Anthony, Hannah, and Michael Corner. They had apparently decided to come together so as not to get lost.

"I believe so," Albus said haltingly. Fawkes and he had discussed it the previous day: everyone who had been close to Albus would have known what his phoenix looked like and to see him, for the first time in _years_ with a first-year would raise many questions. So they had decided that Fawkes would simply begin accompanying him, and Albus would express his own confusion and awe at this being the fact (when indeed, after all these years, it was still a wonder to him that Fawkes chose to stay by him).

"Well what's a phoenix doing with _you_?" Anthony Goldstein exclaimed as he sat down next to Albus to examine Fawkes more closely. Fawkes made an unhappy noise and picked at Anthony's hand. _Good_ , Albus thought grimly. Fawkes had never had much tolerance towards supremacists.

"What, as opposed to hanging out with a Pureblood?" Neville shot back quickly. Albus glanced at him in surprise — he remembered that Neville had been quite shy in his earlier years. It seemed that the Neville of this universe was somewhat more extroverted… or perhaps protective of his friends? Anthony shot Neville a dirty look.

Fawkes continued nibbling at Albus' bacon meanwhile the first-years crowded around the creature, _oohing_ and _aahing_.

"It likes bacon," remarked Justin, which was such a ridiculous statement in such a situation as this, that giggles broke out.

"Now, now, what's this commotion about—" Came Minerva's voice. She broke off when her eyes fell upon the phoenix ( _still)_ eating in the middle of the Hufflepuff table. Her lips mouthed 'Fawkes' silently and Albus felt no small measure of guilt rise up within him at causing her such pain.

"Mr. Potter, would you care to explain what exactly is happening here?" Evidently she had chosen him as the mature figure in this small group.

"Professor — I can explain," Neville began. Albus remarked to himself that he probably couldn't, but his thirst to prove himself to his new friends spoke multitudes for him. "Harry and I were reading the morning newspaper when it burst into flames and this phoenix appeared at our breakfast table, er—" He scratched his head awkwardly, looking at Albus for help.

"We didn't really know what to do, professor. He seems quite attached to the bacon," Albus said cheekily. It was indeed true, Fawkes had always loved bacon very much. Minerva swallowed down a ball of emotions and sternly looked down at the group of first-years.

"And this phoenix belongs to no one?"

Fawkes chose that moment to fly over to Albus' shoulder. It made for a very comical effect, as Albus was still shaking his head 'no' to her question.

"Well, he seems to have chosen your companionship," Minerva said slowly, staring at him with wide eyes. Albus sighed defeatedly when Fawkes chirped demandingly and he then raised a strip of bacon to his beak. This phoenix was truly too spoilt.

"But professor, the rules state that we must only bring an owl, a toad, or a cat!" Anthony said rudely. Neville even dared to roll his eyes in front of Minerva. She chose to ignore that.

"You are correct, Mr. Goldstein. Fortunately, due to their rarity, phoenixes are not mentioned in the Hogwarts Rulebook." Minerva paused for a moment, evidently savouring the boy's expression. "Do not be late to your classes," she said sternly and continued making her way to the Head Table.

The students continued oohing and aahing, even when Albus showed up at their first lesson of the day: potions. Fawkes, of course, loved the attention he was receiving and he proudly puffed his chess out, receiving eye-rolls from Albus at the theatricality of it all. Eventually (when Albus mentioned the class he and Neville would be going to), the phoenix took off, clearly not wanting to be subjected to Horace's probing fingers.

Double Potions with the Ravenclaws: this was bound to be a competitive lesson. Once Horace arrived, the students filed in and Albus took a seat right at the front. Neville complained a bit, but eventually (when promised a stack of Chocolate Frog cards) conceded.

Horace began by explaining the various forms of cutting, chopping, slicing and etc. that there were and that were already very well explained in the textbook (but he wished to impart it to them very clearly) and then they were well off to making their first potion. Throughout all of this, Horace explained the practical and theoretical aspects to the subject: the actual making of the potion and the various formulas, ingredients, cauldrons that existed and how these affected the final product. An exact science, he called it.

Albus, having sat down next to Neville was instantly partnered up with him when they were instructed to make a simple _Cure for Boils_.

"No, no, no — Neville, add the horned slugs _after_ the crushed fangs," Albus grabbed hold of Neville's hand before he could release the ingredient into the murky liquid that was bubbling unpleasantly. Neville blushed slightly and his eyes briefly shifted to the black board. His blush deepened when he saw that Albus was indeed correct.

"Good catch, Mr. Potter! Careful Mr. Longbottom, you wouldn't want to explode your cauldron!" Horace exclaimed joyously. "I taught Mr Potter's mother, you know. Genius at potions, she was." His gaze went out of focus as he wistfully stared into the distance. He wandered off, leaving Neville staring at Harry, perturbed.

"Okay, that was weird."

"Indeed — now, why don't we try writing the steps down and then checking them off as we mix them in? Probably wouldn't hurt to set out the ingredients in all their correct measures as well," Albus said, already reaching for some parchment. Neville gave him a grateful smile and nodded.

Perhaps it was due to Neville's talent at herbology, or Albus' attentiveness that nothing incorrect dropped into the potion, but the potion ended up close to perfect, causing Horace to fawn over it for nearly a minute until he realised that he was being unfair to the other students.

"Ah, ten points to Hufflepuff — to each of you. Well done, boys. Well done!" And that was the end of that.

By midday (having already had potions and herbology), Albus and the rest of the first-year Hufflepuffs were quick to find the way to the Great Hall for lunch. As was usual for this meal, it was already full with milling students. What Albus thought was particularly joyous to see was that students of all houses were sitting at tables not designated to theirs.

"Let's sit with the Gryffindors," Neville said after a moment, staring longingly at that table. Albus sighed, knowing that the boy was still very much annoyed that he hadn't been sorted there. Or perhaps it was his grandmother who was annoyed.

"Harry—"

"—Potter!" Two twin set of voices exclaimed the moment Albus and Neville sat down at the table. The Weasley twins were grinning at them, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"And this is Neville Longbottom," Albus said graciously gesturing at his new friend. The twins bowed chivalrously and somewhat theatrically.

"Very good to meet you, honourable sirs," said one twin — Fred?

"Very honourable indeed," said the other, nodding earnestly. Albus chuckled. Neville looked very lost and instead turned to speak to Ronald Weasley, their fellow first year.

"You must be the Weasley twins," Albus said slowly, as though having a hard time placing them.

"Our fame precedes us?" asked George, eyebrows arching. He glanced at his brother, who shrugged.

"Oi, don't leave me out," Lee Jordan exclaimed, turning to the twins. He introduced himself to Albus and then pointed at Fred and George. "That's Fred and that's George. Hard to tell apart, but you'll get the hang of it once you get to know them a little better," he said with a wink.

"We're the—"

"Greatest troublemakers Hogwarts has ever seen?" Percy Weasley, Gryffindor prefect, interrupted as he reached for the potatoes. All three troublemakers pulled an ugly face.

"You dare?" Lee said, insulted.

"Innocence is our greatest virtue." Fred was nodding, as though attempting to convince himself of the fact.

"Innocent?" Percy snorted. "I very much doubt that."

" _We're_ not the ones snogging Penelope Clearwater every chance we get!"

"You git!"

Albus zeroed out of the argument that was slowly starting to escalate and saw that Neville was engrossed in a conversation about quidditch with Ronald, so he chose to leave lunch early and pay Rubeus Hagrid a visit, not that the man knew who he was per se, but if he would have to re-friend friends again, he would undoubtedly do it.

Humming a tune, Albus crossed the Entrance Hall and pushed open the grand doors which led to the grounds beyond. A loud, musical tone rang out and Fawkes suddenly appeared, circling above him. He landed on Albus' shoulder and he gently stroked the bird's feathers. They felt incredibly soft and groomed to his touch.

"You like Hagrid don't you?" Albus asked him. Foreign feelings of love and affection seeped into Albus through their bond and he smiled.

"You only like the bacon he gives you."

Fawkes had the audacity to look affronted.

They crossed the grounds, greeting the few students that had decided to enjoy the last summer winds and ended up in front of the little cabin by the woods.

"Yer looking for meh?" called a very familiar voice to their right and upon turning in that direction Albus found Rubeus making his way to them, a shovel in hand. "Blimey — is tha' a phoenix on your shoulder?"

Albus grinned and affectionately patted the bird's feathers again. "Yes, hello. I apologise for intruding like this."

"I should be the one thanking yeh fer bringing Fawkes here!" Rubeus exclaimed once he got a better view of the phoenix on Albus' shoulder.

"Fawkes?" Albus questioned innocently.

"Yer mean yeh don' know?" Albus shook his head. "That's Albus Dumbledore's phoenix," he said. Suddenly Rubeus grew sad and for a moment Albus almost saw his eyes turn suspiciously moist. "Great man, of course," he continued.

 _Ah, those are definitely tears now_ , Albus thought, watching the man swallow heavily. His heart ached for these people who had lost their Albus Dumbledore and he wished for more than nothing to give him back to them, but alas, he wasn't _theirs_.

"It's alright, Mr Hagrid," Albus began with a soft smile as he led the giant to one of the self-made benches outside the small cabin. "Why don't you sit down, sir?"

"It's Hagrid tah yeh. And none of tha' sir stuff, yeh hear me?"

Fawkes jumped down from Albus' shoulder and onto Rubeus' hand. The half-giant tenderly held the bird as it cooed softly to him and with a gentleness that his might and size belied, he began to pet the bird.

"Yer must be special for Fawkes to hang around with you," Rubeus remarked once he had calmed. Albus smiled self-indulgently and gestured at his uniform.

"Just a bit loyal." Rubeus barked out a laugh.

"Should I make you a cuppa?" Rubeus had already began to stand up when Albus consulted his watch and began shaking his head.

"Many apologies, but my defence class begins in a few moments and I cannot afford to be late." He paused for a moment, considering the other man's heartbroken expression. "Perhaps I can leave Fawkes with you and pick him up after my classes end?"

The bright smile he received in return was worth more than all of Hogwarts.

* * *

The following chapters will be pretty short because I'm under a lot of stress to find a flat for university (which starts in a week and a half) so if I'm writing it's at 3am when everyone's asleep and I can turn off my brain for a minute. Wrote this chapter and the next in three hours last night (this morning?), so any mistakes you find that's due to my over-exhaustion.

Ehem, anyway, now you finally know what happened with Harry's soul when Albus' took over. I thought that the soul could probably give Voldemort some more sanity and rationality. And to make it very clear: the Voldemort in this story is from the original timeline exactly from the point that Albus himself died on the tower.

I've also changed Neville's character a little, to suit my needs. I like him a lot so I intend to keep him in the story.


	7. Resolution

They had arrived at Hogwarts on a Tuesday and their first lessons had been on a Wednesday and it just so happened that their last lesson on Thursday evening — and the one that Albus had been looking forward to most, was transfiguration. So with a spring in his step, he and the other first-year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins made their way to the elusive classroom on the lefthand side corridor on the fourth floor. The trouble was, the staircases would not move in the correct directions, so the entire group stood stranded a floor below the class.

"Well, that's unpleasant," Blaise Zabini said after a long moment of silence in which they watched the staircases whizz in every direction.

"How are we expected to get to our classes on time if the staircases cannot even get in the right positions?" Draco Malfoy complained. A few Hufflepuffs joined in on the fuss which turned out to be quite a bonding moment for the two houses.

"Maybe we can just ask them?" Neville said helpfully. Draco instantly ganged up on him, laughing.

"You want to _ask_ some staircases to move?"

"Staircases, please let us pass!" Called Anthony Goldstein loudly and somewhat sarcastically. He and Draco exchanged an amused glance. The staircases continued to whizz about.

"A valiant attempt, Anthony, but I suspect kindness is expected from Hogwarts students," Albus remarked upon seeing the blushing Neville and the vindictive bullies. He had always thought Anthony was somewhat too mean to be in Hufflepuff.

"Hogwarts, please can you let us get to our transfiguration class? Professor McGonagall will be quite mad with us if we come late and might even transfigure one of us into a clock if we—"

Albus was cut off as in that instant a bolt of warmth and affection soared through him and judging by the amazed expressions on the other first-years' faces and their reactions, they had felt it too. In the next instant, the staircase that had spent the last ten minutes whizzing about, finally settled on their isolated platform. Albus smiled triumphantly and led the rest of the students to their class. He was pleased to hear from Fawkes later that week that the first-years now kindly spoke to the castle when the need arose to get to a class quickly.

Their eventual arrival at the transfiguration classroom (34B) was, however, late and on their very first lesson the entire class received a warning that they would be indeed turned into watches and maps, should they come late again. An empty threat, of course as the professors at Hogwarts were forbidden to transfigure students… or so Albus hoped was the rule still.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.

"This class represents is the physical science of the magicks. Potions and herbology deal with the chemical and the biological whereas transfiguration happens on a molecular level. I doubt that any of you have ever heard of these terms as they only appear in muggle textbooks, but I implore you to read up on them if you wish to pass your end of year exams. I expect from all of you a highly ethical use of this branch of magic and complete and total attentiveness," Minerva began sternly. Albus gazed at her with wide eyes, already enraptured. It didn't matter that he had taught transfiguration before, or that he himself had a mastery in the subject, and yet, even the simple theories of transfiguration sparked a flame of passion within him.

"Now, let us begin: Each transfiguration has a formula which is that the intended transfiguration is directly influenced by bodyweight (a), viciousness (v), wand power (w), concentration (c), and a fifth—"

As the class moved on, Albus found himself whispering quick explanations to Neville and Susan Bones, who were both having trouble understanding what Minerva was saying. If she saw what he was doing — and undoubtedly, she did — she said nothing.

Eventually, after lots of theoretical science, they finally put down their quills and pulled out their wands, something that excited even the more bored students. After all, they hadn't done much practical magic since their arrival at Hogwarts.

"I will place a knut on each of your desks — ah, Mr. Goyle your pocket is not the correct place for that knut, on your desk please — and you will chant the incantation I have thoroughly explained to you. I do not expect each of you to have a ring laying on your desks by the end of the lesson, but this will be part of a quiz in the next two weeks."

Everyone burst into a ridiculously loud flurry of chaos as they attempted to wave wands as quickly as possible and get their coin to turn into a ring the first. However, just as Albus had already seen many times before, he saw a lot of disappointment cross their faces. It was very improbable for a student to get it right the first time.

"Harry, please tell me you have a tip for me in this class too?" Neville asked hopefully, staring at his coin disdainfully. Albus shrugged. Minerva had truthfully explained the visualisation and the incantation very well. There wasn't any particular reason why it shouldn't have worked for Neville if he had followed all the steps.

" _Decusis verte_ ," Albus proclaimed, moving his wand in precise movements and visualising the ring he had in mind and—

He watched as the coin smoothened around the edges and became more cylindrical. Then it lost its bronze colour only to be replaced by a shining silver and then even gained a small inscription on the side that read ' _Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also',_ the exact inscription that had been placed on his mother's grave.

"Wow," Neville whispered, watching the transformation with wonder. "Incredible," the boy continued, grinning. Albus bowed his head in thanks and just as he was doing so, he noticed the wand that Neville was holding. It looked very old and very worn. It also looked somewhat familiar, as though he had seen someone else use it before.

"Neville, is that your wand?"

"Eh? What?" Neville said distractedly. He had turned back to his task at hand and was attempting the spell anew. His movements were precise and his concentration was good therefore there remained only one explanation…

"Your wand, that is not your own, I suspect?"

"No, my fathers'. How did you know?"

"Ah, my dear friend… Do you feel warmth seep into your very bones and your soul the moment you hold it or cast a spell? Do you feel like the world is whole again every time you touch it?" Albus touched his own wand lightly and smiled at the familiar familiarity and warmth that emanated from it. Neville eyed him quizzically.

"Er… no. It just feels like a stick of would. Shouldn't it? I mean, it _is_ just wood?"

Albus shook his head, wondering if his _grandmother_ had again, been the originator for this idea.

"A wand is not just a tool for you to be used, Neville. A wand is something sacred to every wizard. It has to be matched perfectly to the owner, if not it will not 'work' as well. Think of it like this:

"You have a bucket of water, a funnel and a bottle with a very thin nozzle. The water is your magic. The funnel is your wand and the bottle is the spell that you want to cast. You want to transport your liquid — your magic — to the bottle, but the funnel is too wide for the nozzle, hence no magic. Your funnel must fit perfectly with the bottle, hence you must have a wand that fits perfectly to you."

Neville blinked at him in surprise and he slowly began nodding, evidently agreeing with what he was saying. "I'll ask Professor Sprout if she can help me get a wand… if my grandmother agrees to it."

"If she doesn't, she can expect a howler from me," Albus replied, brow furrowing. No wizard should be kept from his own magic, much less bullied because he does not have the right tools to use as a conduit.

"Mr. Potter, is this your own work?" Minerva had stopped in front of them. She had spent the last half hour walking around, helping the students with their wand movements and explaining what they were doing right and what was wrong. She was currently examining his ring and she looked impressed; or as impressed as someone who had known her for sixty years could see.

"Excellent work Mr. Potter. Ten points for Hufflepuff for this excellent transfiguration. You may help your fellow classmates if they're having trouble."

She turned to Neville. "Now Mr. Longbottom…"

.

Neville had been dreading the first flying lesson of the year and Albus could not blame him. Over the years he had grown to be able to fly himself, but as a child he had been very thin and very tall. Also very awkward and very clumsy to be able to take part in something as graceful as Quidditch much less fly on a broom. He had eventually grown into his own body and had then devoted an entire summer between his sixth year and seventh to learning to fly (Aberforth had been amused to witness the one thing Albus Dumbledore did not excel in, that _he_ did).

It so happened that upon waking up on that Saturday, they found a notice on the board instructing the first year Hufflepuffs to be present at that evening's flight lesson with the Gryffindors. Naturally, all of the muggleborns had been immensely excited, meanwhile Anthony had spent the better half of the day prancing about importantly, telling everyone what a good flyer he actually was.

Rolanda was standing at the head of two rows of brooms, gazing at them critically. Albus knew what it felt like to be the victim of her ire so he ducked his head and pretended to examine the broom he had been assigned. Neville, however wasn't fairing so well; his hands were shaking from nerves.

"Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch," the class echoed back. She nodded, satisfied and began explaining the art of flying. Meanwhile, Albus critically examined his broom: it looked quite old and very badly charmed. Could Hogwarts not afford better brooms? He attempted to stretch out his magic as far as it would go — and at this stage of his development that wasn't very far — and tested as many brooms as he could. Grimly, he noted how worn the magic was. A few more flights, and students would start dropping from the air.

"…Mount your brooms, please!" Rolanda called, pulling Albus away from his thoughts. He called a weak 'up' and the broom awkwardly jumped into his hand.

In a rather accustomed way, he settled into the broom quite well but was, due to the… discomfort of fading spells, forced to cast a cushioning charm on it. Neville was having more trouble.

"Neville, why don't you pretend that your broom is your favourite tree?"

After that, everything seemed to work much smoother. They flew a few laps around the field and after Rolanda made sure that no one was going to drop out of the air anytime soon, she mounted her broom and began correcting the students as they flew. She complimented Ronald Weasley and Anthony on their flawless flying which only caused the two to start doing reckless jumps and twists in the air.

Neville was doing alright as well, to Albus' surprise. He hadn't thought that the clumsy boy would be able to fly so gracefully. Then again, Neville was always full of surprises.

Albus flew high above the field in a long, wide arch, surveilling Hogwarts' majesty with newfound glory and awe. Fawkes from somewhere in the castle seemed to sense his thoughts and appeared at his side. Albus let him hover alongside the broom, occasionally reaching out to pet the magnificently soft feathers atop his head.

Fawkes was rapidly losing colour and energy — and had been for the past week — leading Albus to sorrowfully conclude that his most loyal companion was nearing his burning day.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" Albus murmured to his friend. Below them, they could hear the merry cheering and clapping of the first years as they learnt to fly and Albus allowed himself to bask in that happiness and love.

Fawkes gave a melancholy trill and Albus' lips formed a sad smile. "I know you miss him… and I'm sorry for taking him away from you…" he trailed off and all of a sudden, he felt his eyes well up slightly.

"I'm going to have to do something about Tom soon," Albus remarked to his friend. The phoenix trilled again and buried himself in the warmth of Albus' chest, clutching on to the cloak with his talons. Albus laughed at his phoenix.

As he gazed down at the cheering students below, he realised that that something that he was going to have to do about Tom — about his Hocruxes — had to happen soon.

.

Word quickly spread of Albus' prowess in generally every branch of magic and soon (by the end of their first week at Hogwarts), he found himself swamped with requests for help. Eagerly, and enthused to be a teacher again, he began spending much time in the Hogwarts library in his own little corner that quickly became the 'help corner' for the other students.

On the Wednesday afternoon — exactly a week since they had started classes — Albus found himself in the library again. Due to the rare excellent weather outside, most students had decided to spend it chasing each other on brooms. Through the window, Albus even spotted two muggleborn students playing a sort of convoluted game of football in the air.

As a consequence, the library was completely empty, save for himself and a few seventh years who were already suffering under a huge workload. Amongst them was Nymph — ah, Tonks — Albus reminded himself. He didn't fancy his hair turning pink again, due to a well placed charm, courtesy of Tonks.

"Wotcher Harry," she said happily, gracelessly dropping down into the chair opposite his. "I'm Tonks."

"Pleasure, Ms. Tonks," he said with a smile of his own. She glanced at his text and her eyebrow arched.

"Animagi? Isn't that a bit ambitious for a first-year?"

"Professor McGonagall transformed into a cat during our first lesson and I was wondering how that worked." Albus closed the book and surreptitiously slid it over his notes. He had actually been researching Animagi to look for ways to get a hold of Peter Pettigrew and understand why Sirius Black was so immune to Dementors in his dog form. He had to start putting his plans into motion. Getting Sirius out of Azkaban was currently the number one priority.

"Well, you might want to keep that under wraps, er, it's kinda illegal to become one without registering first," she glanced furtively left and right to make sure no one was listening in. Albus nodded earnestly, as though intending to fully follow her advice. Truthfully, the more he read about this animagus business, the more he wanted to become one himself.

"There's an awesome practicing room on the seventh floor, if you, er… _ever want some time to yourself_ ," she said, glancing down at his textbook meaningfully. Albus' face broke out in an uncharacteristic smirk. "Just walk by the tapestry three times thinking of the room that you need, and it'll appear, yeah?"

"Thank you, miss," Albus said politely. She grinned back and then rejoined her friends.

Albus scratched his head in thought. Was that the Room of Hidden things that many books referred to… but never explained how to get there? Now that explained that time when a door had appeared leading to a room full of chamber pots. If he remembered correctly, he had been lost. Humming to himself (and receiving a disapproving stare from Madame Pince), he gathered his things and strolled out of the library.

Still humming merrily along to himself, he began his trek to the seventh floor… only to be intercepted by Peeves, the poltergeist.

"Potty, Potty! Looking for trouble, eh Potty?" Peeves exclaimed upon spotting him. He was currently holding a bag of Dungbombs and Stink Pellets. Albus could almost already see Filch's ire. Luckily he wasn't the one that would have to deal with him this time around.

"Good afternoon, Peeves, my good sir," Albus replied, eyes twinkling. He had always liked the poltergeist and his approach to life that very much fit the motto 'life is too important to take seriously'.

"Polite Potty, polite Potty!" Peeves chanted loudly. Albus grinned. In an uncharacteristic form of chivalry, the poltergeist bowed deeply and chose not to drop the Dungbombs on him before he floated away, chanting something about having to find the Weasley twins. Albus shook his head in fondness.

He encountered few students on the way to the seventh floor Hidden room and only when he was sure that no one was coming along, the passed the tapestry three times, thinking the words 'Hidden Room' over and over again. To his amazement, a pair of grand double doors appeared. And to think that he had spent the better half of his life in this school and not once had he discovered this room on purpose!

Pushing the doors open, he found himself in a most remarkable place: broken and damaged furniture, mostly chairs, tables and various cabinets haphazardly stacked, littered the room. Thousands and thousands of books stood in bookshelves that looked to be falling part. Flying catapults, fanged frisbees and various chipped bottles of congealed potions were strewn around the room. Towers of abandoned objects were stacked upon each other, and peeking from these piles were enormous stuffed trolls, suits of armour (assembled and disassembled), cages, skeletons, musical instruments and other odd objects that had likely been here for centuries.

Albus gasped loudly, knowing that he would be spending much time here, in the future. However, out of the corner of his eye, he very suddenly saw an object that had led to his ultimate doom: the Vanishing Cabinet through which Draco Malfoy had let the Death Eaters. Grimly, he pointed his wand at it and cast a definitive _Bombarda Maximus._

Casting such a spell in a place with towers of objects that relied on perfect balance to hold upright was perhaps not the most intelligent idea, because with a sudden loud rumble, the tower in which the Cabinet had previously stood, started to tumble. Cursing his own idiocy, Albus cast a protective dome around himself and he watched with amazement as objects tumbled down, showering him with paraphernalia of ages past.

When the commotion had calmed, he cancelled the spell and began crawling out of the crater. Walls of objects surrounded him and he eventually was forced to climb the side of a bookcase. When he finally climbed to the top of the crater, he surveilled the large expanse before him. He could just spot the back wall, but it seemed so far away, that Albus had trouble imagining how much knowledge and how many stories were hidden away in this room.

Then, all of a sudden, something caught his sight and he gasped aloud, honestly very much shocked.

Because laying atop a pile of books with broken spines, lay the gleaming diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.

* * *

I was asked in a review how the whole resurrection thing actually worked and what timeline had who and such. Hence I will now give you a small explanation so that everyone is on the same page. This will be further discussed in the story, however, when Albus finds out that Voldemort is back.

Essentially: Albus was brought into the past when he died. His soul took Harry's place. And Harry's soul was snapped up by Voldemort's (from the past) and they were both picked up by Quirrel who was forced to resurrect Voldemort. So now, Voldemort possesses his soul from the past, memories from the future, and he's leeching off Harry's soul (like he did in the second book with Ginny's soul). His Horcruxes still exist and have to be destroyed before he can.

Albus, however, still has the Horcrux shard attached to his scar.


	8. Renaissance

Yes, I have returned! I received a review recently on some other story (or maybe it was this one) wherein a reader told me that I had a terrible habit of not finishing my stories - you are in fact, correct! I have, to date, only finished one single fanfiction. I write mainly for relaxation and due to my own hubris. I write what I would like to read.

I was also asked to get a move on (in some other review) and write! Whilst I am humbled that people reread my stories and want to read more, I kindly point out that I am an architecture student which means that I sometimes go three days without sleep (yes, returning home only to shower, have breakfast and go back to university) when working on a project. The bottom line is, I don't even have time to read the news nowadays. Luckily my semester holidays have just begun, so I get to relax somewhat and catch up on some sleep.

* * *

"Very glad you could join us Mr. Riddle. It's a huge honour to finally meet you," Cornelius Fudge said, grinning like a cheshire cat as he took the other man's hand eagerly. The other man was in fact, one Tom Riddle, someone who, as far as Fudge could tell, relatively normal if once discounted his immense magical aura. Standing directly beside Riddle was Lucius Malfoy and although Cornelius absolutely despised him, he knew that the man held too much lobby power to shut down completely.

And if this Tom Riddle had connections such as Malfoy, then, Cornelius knew, he had to treat him as he would Malfoy.

"Lord Malfoy has been raving about your talents all week," Cornelius said with a small hidden grimace as his mind automatically jumped to the partially threatening things that Malfoy had been telling him all of last week.

"Raving indeed?" Riddle cocked his head to the side like some sort of predator regarding his defenceless pray.

Riddle was the very definition of average in appearance: in not for his power, Cornelius would have very definitely underestimated him. He looked just a bit over fifty, although with wizards it was always hard to tell, and had thoughtful, serious eyes. His lips were drawn into an unreadable thin line.

"I'm afraid so," he said with his best politician chuckle. Deciding to put some safe distance between himself and the two men, Cornelius sat down at his desk and gestured briefly at the two armchairs opposite him. "Now, what can I do for you, gentlemen?"

The two _gentlemen_ sat.

"My friend Mr Riddle, a man of many talents, is seeking a position here, in the Ministry, Minister."

"A position, _here_?" Cornelius leaned back into his own throne-like chair. He stroked his impressive moustache.

"Indeed," Malfoy said, inclining his head impatiently.

"And what position is Mr Riddle seeking?" His question was directed at said man.

"It has come to my attention that the Junior Undersecretary Harold Minchum has quite a few affairs with… _younger_ women." Malfoy said conversationally. Out of his cloak he dug out a selection of photographs, each taken from angles that suggested that the photographer had been in hiding.

"If this were to come to light… oh the scandal it would cause," Malfoy continued, smiling casually. Fear instantly gripped Cornelius' heart: this was his first year in office! If such a scandal as this came out in his first term… his whole affairs would be defined by this single story.

"These photographs don't necessarily have to fall into the _Daily_ _Prophet's_ hands," Riddle said in a soft and velvety voice.

"Your proposition, gentlemen?" Cornelius bit back the desire to call them out on their blackmailing. He had been a Slytherin, he knew how these things worked: he knew that Malfoy could very easily depose of him if he so wished. The fact that he had been Minister for a year already was already noteworthy: Malfoy _wanted_ him as Minister.

"I become the new Junior Undersecretary and Mr. Harold Minchum is asked to kindly leave the services of the Ministry of Magic," Riddle said somewhat smugly. Cornelius almost cringed, as his mind turned to the tight corner into which the two before him had snuck him.

"Excuse me Mr Malfoy," Cornelius now purposefully didn't use the Lord's title. "But it very much seems as though you are blackmailing me."

"Seems?" Laughed Malfoy. "No, no, Cornelius you are mistaken!" Riddle laughed too as though the concept was so completely absurd that it almost seemed mad. Cornelius almost believed him too.

"It is simply a deal of sorts, Minister. An exchange. I am very certain that I will serve your office well, if not better than Minchum has until now."

"Mr Riddle and I have… other affairs to attend to, Minister," Malfoy said standing up. He retied his outer cloak at the neck.

"I hope this matter will be resolved quickly and tidily," Riddle said with a charming smile that expertly hid the snake within. Then the two wizards — Cornelius could no longer think of them as gentlemen — excused themselves, and left, leaving one very nervous head of state.

..

 _Casting such a spell in a place with towers of objects that relied on perfect balance to hold upright was perhaps not the most intelligent idea, because with a sudden loud rumble, the tower in which the Cabinet had previously stood, started to tumble. Cursing his own idiocy, Albus cast a protective dome around himself and he watched with amazement as objects tumbled down, showering him with paraphernalia of ages past._

 _When the commotion had calmed, he cancelled the spell and began crawling out of the crater. Walls of objects surrounded him and he eventually was forced to climb the side of a bookcase. When he finally climbed to the top of the crater, he surveilled the large expanse before him. He could just spot the back wall, but it seemed so far away, that Albus had trouble imagining how much knowledge and how many stories were hidden away in this room._

 _Then, all of a sudden, something caught his sight and he gasped aloud, honestly very much shocked._

 _Because laying atop a pile of books with broken spines, lay the gleaming diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw._

Almost instantly Albus was drawn to the power that the diadem oozed and something within him — presumably Voldemort's soul piece — responded with a small jitter of recognition. Almost as though in a trance, he stretched out his arm and extended his thin fingers. He was mere millimetres away from touching the actual diadem when a sharp image of his cursed arm flashed towards the forefront of his mind and he instantly jerked back. No, he wouldn't fall for Riddle's curse a second time.

Instead, looking around for some sort container, Albus found a drawer that had been somehow dislodged from it's corresponding desk. Deeming it safe enough, he hefted it out of the large pile of furniture next to him and with a levitation charm transported the diadem into the drawer. Better safe than sorry, as the muggles were fond of saying.

Now the next problem was finding a new place for this artefact: firstly he would have to find a way to get to some Basilisk venom… or, he could always steal Gryffindor's sword? His magic certainly wasn't mature enough to be able to properly manage Fiendfire, and the venom certainly wasn't accessible to him, not while he was still at Hogwarts anyway.

The sword of Gryffindor it was.

Scratching the back of his head, Albus gazed at the glittering diadem in the drawer in his hands. Rarely had he seen such a beautifully crafted piece of jewellery! The glittering gems were expertly cut and the silver perfectly welded into the perfect grown: fit for a queen. And indeed, historical texts suggested that Rowena Ravenclaw had been a princess in her own right.

The question was, where could he hide this artefact? Leaving it in the Room of Hidden Things was certainly not an option. Tom obviously knew about this room. The Chamber of Secrets was also not an option, as was his former office. Perhaps, as no one knew who he really was, the simplest place could be under his bed in his dorm? There he would also be able to, over time, layer the artefact with protective wards.

Finally emerging from the Room of Hidden Things, he snuck out into the corridor and found to his utter amazement that it had turned dark outside. It seemed he had spent much more time in the Room of Requirement than he had thought he had. This, of course, meant that Filch and Mrs. Norris were out prowling the corridors.

A prefect or two and the Headboy or Headgirl would also be patrolling the hallways. However, all of these people didn't have almost a hundred years of experience with this school. Navigating silently and unseen through Hogwarts was something of a skill that Albus had acquired in the decades he had spent as teacher and Headmaster.

Very soon (aver having used various secret passageways) he found himself in the Hufflepuff Common Room. He quickly rushed up to his room and snuck the drawer with the Diadem underneath his bed. That was when he heard the sniffling. Someone was crying.

He quickly identified the source as Neville Longbottom, who sat at the edge of his four poster bed, wiping away tears from his eyes.

"H-Harry? Is that you?" Neville said shakily, turning to him. Albus winced in the darkness, hoping to dear Merlin that Neville hadn't seen the drawer he'd smuggled into the dormitory.

"Neville? Yes, it's me. I lost track of time in the library — alas all that knowledge! Right at our fingertips!"

He got a small strangled chuckle at that.

"Is everything alright Neville?"

"I miss my gran," he admitted quietly so as not to wake their roommates. Albus moved so that he was sitting on Neville's bed and he swung an arm over the boy's shoulders. He had seen plenty of students crying over the years: some had even woken him in the middle of the night, terribly homesick.

"I am certain she misses you terribly as well," Albus said warmly, patting the boy's back.

"And I—" Neville hiccupped and gave a repressed sob. "Miss my parents."

Albus sighed. He did too; only he was well over a century old, and his parents were well over eighty years dead.

"I understand the kitchens have a fresh supply of hot chocolate," Albus murmured. "Shall we?"

.

The kitchens were brightly lit, as was typical for them, even at this hour. This room mirrored the one above, with five elongated tables stretching from one wall to the other. The Head table stood on a little podium. The stone walls were lined with pots and pans and every several metres there stood a brick fireplace. The atmosphere was warm and sweet: the perfect place to treat the homesickness of an eleven-year-old child.

Most of the house-elves had gone to sleep, only one remained. Hooky, as Albus easily recognised him, sat at the end of the Ravenclaw table, tapping an abnormally long finger against his lips as he read that day's newspaper. His round glasses kept slipping of his large hooked nose and provided quite a comical sight for the two Hufflepuffs.

"Sirs!" The house-elf cried upon spotting them. He immediately stood to attention. Albus smiled kindly at him.

"Neville here is feeling quite under-the-weather — might we trouble you for some warm hot-chocolate?" Hooky grinned eagerly and rushed towards one of the counters. Albus smiled cheekily and gestured towards the Head Table.

"No, no, no — Harry we can't do that!" Neville cried the moment he saw what Albus' intentions were.

Indeed, Neville had guessed correctly. Albus alighted himself down into the Head chair, reserved for Minerva. He felt terribly at home there, surveilling the Great Hall and imagining all those eager-looking faces staring up at him.

"Merlin, you actually did that," Neville said with a gasp. Albus laughed outright, feeling that old sense of cheekiness and trickery come back to him.

"The view up here is vastly better than down there," Albus commented. Neville was still standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Head table. Albus pointedly glanced at the seat to his right. "That seat is still peculiarly empty."

Neville made a sound of frustration and caved. For a moment, they sat in complete silence until Neville broke it with a sentence that caused a fresh new bout of laughter:

"The view _is_ better up here."

.

Neville and Albus dragged themselves down to breakfast the next morning. Whilst their activities in the kitchens had been entertaining and had lifted their spirits, they now faced a fully day of lessons with two hours of sleep behind them. Pomona gave them a knowing glance as she passed them on the way to the head table: their tired faces said it all.

They had arrived late enough for the owls to already have come and gone and upon getting into their seats, two letters popped into existence onto their plates. Albus eagerly opened his, recognising Petunia's crisp handwriting. Neville smiled eagerly and ripped open the envelope.

 _Dear Harry_ ,

 _Dudley was ecstatic when he got your letter — via Fawkes! A lesson learnt; from now on he will only receive his letters after breakfast and not before bed. We are okay, Dudley is doing well at school, but obviously doesn't have you to tutor him anymore._

 _I did as you asked and attempted to track down a man by the name of Severus Snape, and I confess, I knew the name before you mentioned it. He was our neighbour growing up. When Lily turned ten, she met the boy (I thought of him as vile and disgusting). And began spending much of her time with him. I never knew what happened to him after Lily lost contact with him. You were indeed correct, he had fled to_ our _world. You asked me to investigate how he looked: he looked very unwell. His hair was greasy and his skin was pale. I don't think he saw me when I took a peek through the window—_

The letter continued, asking Albus about his health and whether he wanted anything _'normal'_ from the muggle world. However, all he could do, was concentrate on the bit about Severus. His heart ached for the man. Presumably, with no Dumbledore to protect him, he had exiled himself to the muggle world, unwilling to face the vicious press of the wizarding world which constantly had painted him as the villain in the early years. Minerva, it seemed, had not managed to stop him from leaving.

"Wotcher Harry," piped up a voice, jerking him from his thoughts. Albus greeted Tonks as she walked past them and joined her friends at the end of the table.

Neville was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I met her yesterday in the library."

Neville _ahhed_ and began chattering away about the news that his grandmother had informed him on.

The second letter Albus had received was an invitation to join the slug club meeting that Slughorn had organised to fall on the 31st of October. Albus promptly gave this letter to Fawkes to burn.

Glancing up at the head table, Albus noted that Minerva was eagerly chatting away to Filius, not really taking notice of the sea of students before her. After breakfast, she would be going directly to her first class of second years, meaning that her office would be completely empty for at least the next fifty minutes, giving Albus an excellent opportunity to… procure the sword of Gryffindor.

The only trouble was, he was not a Gryffindor this time around and he needed one to pull the sword out of the Sorting Hat. _Maybe… if he asked nicely…_

Standing up, he excused himself and wandered out of the Great Hall, humming as he went along. Neville was almost too engrossed in rereading his letter that he barely noticed Albus leaving. He ascended to the Gargoyle Corridor, and making sure that no one was following him, he cast a badly executed disillusionment charm on himself.

His magic wasn't quite there yet and this would only make him appear as something unseen at the corner of one's eye, but it would have to do for the Gargoyle who guarded the office.

As predicted, the Gargoyle didn't seem to detect him as he approached. An ear did flick and Albus was forced to reign his magic in, so that it didn't alert the wards of his presence. He side-stepped around the Gargoyle, and instead of climbing the stairs, he deposited his wand into his pocket and climbed the railing: this way he wouldn't have to go into the hassle of removing every single ward on every single step.

The great double mahogany doors at the top of the spiral staircase were heavily warded causing Albus to groan. There was no way he would be able to dismantle them with his limited magical core, not to mention, he wouldn't be able to set them up again. However, just as he was beginning to consider simply using a _bombarda_ out of frustration, a warm and sentient shiver rushed through him: Hogwarts.

The Castle twinkled in his mind and Albus smiled to himself: of course! How had he not thought of it before? The Castle was sentient and still held quite some loyalty to him.

"Please help me, Castle. See, poor Tom created abominable objects to hold his soul… the only way to get rid of them is to use the Sword of Gryffindor against them, I beg of you, let me through."

There was a long considering silence, and then another surge of warmth blowed through Albus and the doors opened with a bang. Would it have been possible, Albus would have kissed the Castle on the lips.

He gasped upon seeing the office again: it was as always beautiful, located in the easternmost tower of Hogwarts. Once upon a time, it had been Gryffindor's secret room, the Chamber having been Slytherin's, the Kitchens Hufflepuff's and the Room of Hidden Things Ravenclaw's. The view from the generous windows offered Hogwarts' magnificent grounds (today covered by a shroud of fog). The mahogany desk had also been Gryffindor's and even still held an inscription in Celtic. Albus had added his own when he had moved into this office, a memento of his own hubris.

All around him were portraits of Headmasters and Headmistresses of ages past, all snoozing away. Save for the beady-eyed Phineas Black, whose eyes skirted around the room, attempting to spot the intruder.

"Who goes there!" He called loudly, waking a few portraits. Albus almost groaned. Among those who he woke, was a familiar gentleman: a face that he would never forget. Directly behind Minerva's desk, hung a portrait of Dumbledore. Those sharp eyes were hazy for a moment before they landed directly on Albus, cutting through the disillusionment charm with ease.

"Peace Phineas," Dumbledore said in a calm voice, placating the hypertensive wizard. "Simply the wind."

Phineas Black harrumphed and disappeared from his painting, presumably to another wizarding property. Seeing that nothing noteworthy was happening, the other woken portraits when right back to sleep.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore stated, a twinkle in his eye. Albus dropped the charm, realising there was no reason in upholding it when it drained his magic anyway.

"Indeed, sir."

This was certainly odd, meeting himself. He now understood what Dedalus and Minerva had always pointed out when they said that the twinkle in his eye often got annoying.

"Now what might you be doing here, _Harry_?" It didn't sound like a demanding question, but having used this tactic various times before himself, Albus wasn't unfamiliar with it.

It was then, that they both heard a voice calling out the password at the bottom of the stairs. Albus pursed his lips worriedly — apparently Minerva had returned to the office to collect something! Or perhaps he had tripped a ward? Albus cursed under his breath (Dumbledore shot him a disapproving glance) and he called for Fawkes.

In an instant, the avian appeared above him. Dumbledore's eyes widened in recognition. Albus' eyes met with his, and the latter's mouth propped open in recognition. Albus smiled cheekily at him and winked before grabbing onto Fawkes' leg, and disappearing in a flash of fire.

When Minerva entered her office, looking to and fro, searching for the person who had tripped her wards, she finally turned to the portrait of Dumbledore for help. He however, smiled jovially and reported that nothing extraordinary had happened since she had left.

* * *

Some healthy adventure coupled with the ordinary woes of boarding school life such as home-sickness, strict rules, and irritation towards one's roommates after months of co-habitation!


	9. Running out of words starting with R

Alas! Holidays!

(I was PM'd about the cover art for this story: yes, indeed, I do art, and that is my own: find it on the blog tdarts on tumblr: tdarts . tumblr . com)

 _"Education without values, as useful as it is, seems rather to make man a more clever devil."_ ~C.S. Lewis

* * *

 _Dear Nicolas and Pen,_

 _Remarkably, I just recently found the Room of Hidden things, rumoured to be Rowena Ravenclaw's small and special contribution to Hogwarts, and due to my cumbersomeness I found her Diadem! Oh, and its beauty is unparalleled! (I am convinced, it would finish off your otherwise perfect drag look — yes, Pen, Nicolas was once very drunk.)_

 _It is a Horcrux, regrettably (as I assumed correctly, Tom chose very specific objects to house his Horcruxes). Fiendfire and Basilisk poison are the only two things that can destroy such a vile thing. The former, I cannot yet cast as my magic is simply too underdeveloped to cast such complex magics; the latter is obscenely hard to obtain. However, a basilisk inhabits the castle and is hidden in Slytherin's chamber. It's location remains secret and I have yet to find a way to get there._

 _Perhaps when you visit on_ ** _parent's day_** _under the guise of… Petunia's new friend, we could attempt to persuade the Basilisk to give us some of its poison. Our death in this instance would be very probable, but I distinctly remember Tom Riddle's soul shard lending Harry extraordinary parseltongue abilities!_

 _Your dear friend,  
Albus_

 _._

It was nearing the end of October when Albus finally found his solution to getting into Minerva's office. This revelation came sometime at midnight, when almost his entire house was responsibly sleeping.

"Oi, oi, oi, wakey wakey!" Yelled a voice at the top of it's lungs. In an instant everyone in the dorm room was awake. Albus automatically reached for his wand and received an odd glance from Neville who had seen Albus retrieving it from under his pillow. Constant Vigilance, eh?

"Come on! Get dressed and be in the common room in ten!"

"Wha-?" Kevin yawned loudly, blinking blearily as he did so.

"It's midnight!" Anthony cried out indignantly. Albus glanced at his odd watch and confirmed. Very curious as to what was going to happen, he leapt out of bed and grabbed a sweater and a thick cloak. October in Scotland was fairly intimidating where weather was concerned.

"You're actually going?" Justin asked, intrigued. Albus hummed in affirmation.

"I'm going back to bed," Anthony said sleepily, turned his back to them and went back to sleep. Albus almost felt tempted to roll his eyes. Justin and Neville exchanged a glance and obviously coming to a conclusion, dressed and joined Albus at the door. The rest fell back to sleep.

The stairs leading to the common room were full with students of various ages, blearily looking at each other. The young man who had woken them all pushed himself through the crowd and to the common room: he was curiously dressed in quidditch gear.

The common room was packed with students. Some of the older years had a broom under one arm, others had a quaffle or a snitch clutched in their fingers. A picture began forming itself in his head and Albus was beginning to feel somewhat indignant that he had never known about this — he would have certainly participated in a quidditch game in the night!

"Right listen up everyone!" Jonathan Cricket said, Albus now recognised him. "You know the drill — use the hidden exit from the Hufflepuff common room and crawl through the tunnel until you reach the lake. Swim up to the jetty, dry yourself off and we'll get the match going. TO THE FIRST YEARS:" the fifth year began hollering now, so that the first years standing at the very back could hear him better. "THIS IS THE ANNUAL INTER-HOUSE UNOFFICIAL QUIDDITCH GAME. IT IS PLAYED OVER THE LAKE. UNDERSTOOD?"

Albus and his peers exchanged surprised stares. Eventually Albus raised a thumbs-up so as not to have to shout over the chatter. So then one by one, all the students walked directly through the fireplace and disappeared into a tunnel beyond (this left even Albus stupefied — how had he not known about this?!). The first years were all handed brooms as they had not been allowed to bring their own.

"I don't really like flying," Neville confessed while they were standing in that line. Albus smiled kindly at him.

"You may go to sleep with a good conscience. I don't believe this is obligatory, my friend."

"No, I want to do it," Neville said with new resolve. Albus turned and firmly patted the young man's shoulder.

"Remember, think of the broom as your favourite plant and treat it with respect."

Then it was his turn. Albus passed through the flames, which only tickled at best (he was pretty sure that that charm wasn't taught at Hogwarts in the charms curriculum) and then continued crawling through a tunnel. The tunnel became soggier and wetter until it was suddenly gaining water. Albus took a deep breath and began swimming. Reaching the surface of the lake, he hoisted himself into the pier and found the most extraordinary thing:

They were standing directly at the foot of the cliff, on top of which stood the castle. Just to the side were the brightly lit six greenhouses which provided some light. That, along with the moonlight was almost enough to make out the faces of everyone present. And around him, it seemed, stood the entirety of Hogwarts' population.

Still more students were swimming up from the lake (mainly Hufflepuffs and Slytherins), the Gryffindors had taken to flying directly from their tower, as had the Ravenclaws.

"WELCOME TO THE ANNUAL INTERHOUSE LAKE QUIDDITCH MATCH!" The student body cheered loudly and Albus wondered how the teachers in the castle didn't hear them. Then again, he had been the headmaster and hadn't ever heard even a whisper about this sort of thing.

"PREFECTS: PLEASE SELECT YOUR TEAMS! ALL TEAMS MUST HAVE A PERSON FROM EACH HOUSE! YOU KNOW THE RULES: NO FOWLS, NO CHEATING — THAT GOES TO YOU SLYTHERIN!" the student body laughed. The Slytherins rolled their eyes, but were used to the stereotype by now. "YEAH AND NO GOADING — THAT GOES TO _YOU_ GRYFFINDOR!" Again, the student body laughed and Albus found himself almost smirking a tiny bit.

There was a flurry of excitement around them as people attempted to find a team that would take them. Albus ended up with Neville in a team with other older Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs. They were just lacking a Gryffindor when Albus spotted Tonks and called her over.

What followed this was the craziest thing that had ever happened to him: and he had gone to some odd parties with Elphias when they had both been young and full of energy. Six games of Quidditch could simultaneously be played on the Great Lake (Albus only later realised that the reason for this was that if people fell off their brooms, they could simply fall into the lake. Injuries were avoided due to this).

The matches continued well into the wee hours of the morning and it was nearing six o'clock when the entirety of the student body grabbed a seat at the small beach at the lake to watch the final. The sun had been steadily rising over the past few hours and now filled the grounds with a beautiful golden hue of light: illuminating the golden snitch in a most beautiful manner.

Albus' team had been thrown out of the competition early on, their competing team having been one of the finalists and he now sat, leaning against Neville's back as they both turned their heads to watch the game. Someone had conjured blankets and was distributing them. One other student had brought thermos's from the kitchen filled with hot chocolate.

And as the game continued before them, Albus realised that this memory: of him joking around with Neville and other students, from other years and other houses would now remain among his very favourites. The joy he felt within him that night, he would now hold very dearly — what a wonderful memory for a Patronus!

.

The match ended and the 'Scamander Sphinxes won': everyone began slowly going back to their dorms to sleep the night off. Thankfully, it was a Saturday and they didn't have classes, so a few people procured a few butterbeers and continued chattering away, too buzzed to go back to sleep now.

The winning team continued celebrating and received an inanimate golden snitch with an engraving with their name as a prize. Albus mounted his broom and jumped into the air. He lazily toured the Hogwarts grounds until he discovered he had a tail: Draco Malfoy had joined him.

"Hello Potter," Draco said, once he had caught up to Albus. Said young man inclined his head in greeting. Malfoy had generally kept away from Albus, mainly due to the fact that Slytherins and Hufflepuffs didn't share many classes.

"Greetings Draco. I trust you enjoyed tonight's events?"

"Our team managed to get into the semifinals," Draco said boastfully. Albus hummed and smiled at him. The young man had evidently expected an awed look and he faltered for a moment, now changing tactics.

"So I saw," Albus finally replied.

"You don't seem like a Hufflepuff," Draco suddenly said. There was a certain vulnerability to his voice that instantly reminded Albus of that fateful night at the top of the astronomy tower. Throwing a glance over Draco's shoulder, he caught sight of said tower and was forced to gulp down all the emotion that arose within him.

"Aha," Albus turned his broom around so that he was directly facing the other boy. "Gryffindor would have been a better fit to my propagated persona?"

"Well, yeah," Draco said hesitantly.

"And there is the crux of the matter," Albus said seriously, yet kindly. He had received a rare opportunity now to right his wrongs where Draco was concerned and turn him away from the Black Arts. He had failed to do so the previous time, he would not this time.

"But you're a Potter… you're _The Potter_!" Draco exclaimed. Albus had a sudden feeling that this had to do with more than being a Potter and confirming the cliche that the public had conjured of the Boy-Who-Lived. That aside, 'The Potter' had a nice ring to it.

"And this means I must be a Gryffindor?" Albus chuckled, genuinely amused. "My grandmother was Dorea Black and she was a Slytherin. By your reasoning, my father had fifty percent chance of getting into Gryffindor, and an equal chance of being a Slytherin."

"You must!"

Albus 'aha-d' again and surveyed the young Malfoy. The boy soon became unnerved and quickly looked away from Albus' penetrating gaze.

"I _must_ , indeed, and yet I'm not." Albus paused briefly as he looked into the rising sunrise: breakfast would soon be starting. "Tell me, Draco, why were _you_ sorted into Slytherin?"

"Because I'm a Malfoy, we've always been in Slytherin," came the immediate response.

"No, no, why were you not in, say, Hufflepuff with me?" Albus cocked his head to the side. In the distance, he could see Fawkes circling the Headmistresses office.

"I don't need loyalty. I'm a Mafloy."

"Exactly!" Albus snapped his fingers. Draco looked taken-aback. "You don't value loyalty as much as, for example, power and prestige."

"No, I suppose not."

"I happen to value loyalty and friendship very dearly — that is why I was sorted into Hufflepuff."

Draco cocked his head to the side in thought and then his eyebrows scrunched up together, considering the idea. Albus suppressed a smile, knowing that look very well: a student slowly understanding a concept explained by a teacher. It seemed the boy had only ever thought himself a Slytherin because of _who_ his family was, and not of _who_ he was.

"That was a positively cunning manipulation," Draco finally commented. Albus was taken-aback.

"Not a manipulation, Draco, simply enlightening a friend of his identity!"

Surprise flashed through Draco's expression at being called a friend to Harry Potter. He pursed his lips, then they slowly stretched into a small, shy smile. Because underneath that tough exterior, existed an insecure boy attempting to find his place in the world. Holding his broom mobile with one hand, the young Malfoy extended the other.

Albus eagerly took the very literal hand and shook it firmly. "Friends, yeah?" Draco said hesitantly. Albus winked, eyes twinkling.

"Why not?"

.

If Filch was surprised that almost the entire student body was at breakfast that early that same morning, he didn't show it much. Indeed, almost everybody was wide-awake at seven o'clock on the dot, and pacing in front the the Great Hall, waiting for breakfast to start. Some people had gone back to sleep, but most had decided to forgo that relatively unimportant detail and satisfy their rumbling stomachs first.

When finally the doors opened, a great flood of students burst into the Hall. That night's events had prompted a strong interconnection between the Houses and if not for the banners hanging above the house tables it would have been indecipherable to say which table belonged to each house. The Gryffindors sat with the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws with the Gryffindors, and the Hufflepuffs with everyone.

When the professors arrived, they all bemusedly made their way to the Head Table. This extreme mingling only ever seemed to happen a few times a year, they thought. Albus eventually also remembered that there had been a few odd breakfasts like this when he had been headmaster: and to think that the student body had organised such an event right under their noses!

During this breakfast, Albus sat with the Slytherins, joking around with Blaise Zabini about the state of the English team for the Quidditch World Cup (they were both of the opinion that the team was very badly chosen). When the breakfast finally ended, people began moving to their respective Houses and within a few minutes, the student body was once more completely segregated from one another.

Noting that Minerva wasn't at her seat, Albus mused her whereabouts. He smiled and thanked his conversation partners for their exceptional companionship and left the Great Hall. He was dragging his feet behind him in tiredness, when a thought entered his head, or rather, a very vivid picture. When sneaking down onto the grounds the Gryffindors had flown down from the tower…. perhaps _he_ could fly _into_ Minerva's office and procure the Sword that way.

Rushing out onto his grounds, Albus called Fawkes and watched him a appear with a flash of fire.

"Hello, dear friend."

Fawkes trilled happily and nuzzled his head against Albus' cheek. Albus chuckled and gently raked his fingers through the avian's soft feathers.

"I missed your presence last night — the quidditch game was simply magnificent!" Fawkes made a disappointed noise. "You were with Nicolas I presume?"

A mental image appeared in the forefront of his mind: Fawkes trilling a song whilst Nicolas and his wife poured over texts about Horcruxes. Albus pursed his lips and gave a grim sigh. It seemed last night had served to take his mind off of things, and yet, that had only been the case for a few hours. Reality crashed down upon him once more and he slouched his shoulders, the weight of the world suddenly back on them.

"I have figured out a new way to get into Minerva's office," Albus confessed. Fawkes actually rolled his eyes and Albus received a mental image of him _talking_ to Minerva and confessing who he was.

"You know I cannot do that, Fawkes. She will be safer this way."

Fawkes made a frustrated sound.

"We simply have to approach the problem from another direction!" Albus exclaimed. "We must enter through the window!"

It took some convincing, but eventually Fawkes caved and offered his leg. Albus took it, and they shot into the air. Fawkes' strength coupled with his extraordinary powers got them there within a few seconds.

Albus gulped nervously as he attached himself onto the windowsill. To properly conduct his wand, he would have to release his hold on Fawkes. Licking his fingers, Albus slowly released the avian's leg and instantly grasped onto the wall. _Thank Merlin for gothic architecture_ , he thought. Lots of footholds.

He risked a look down and confirmed that it was a long way down, after which he resolved not to look in that direction again. Instead, he concentrated on the task at hand. He pulled out his wand and quickly unlocked the window and peeked inside: Minerva was no-where to be found. He pulled the window wide open and rapidly crawled into the room.

Albus tumbled to the ground and mumbled a few obscenities (earning an admonishing squawk from his avian friend, who too, had swooped into the room). It would have been much easier to simply flash into the office with Fawkes, but Minerva was smart enough to have placed even more wards in her office since Albus' last break-in attempt.

Thankfully the portraits were all asleep: even the painting of Dumbledore was snoozing. Casting a quick disillusionment charm, Albus sneaked over to the Sorting Hat sitting in a corner and put it on.

" _Who do we have here… Mr. Potter turned Mr. Dumbledore? Hm… interesting."_

"Vague as ever, Hat," Albus replied cheekily. The Hat harrumphed.

" _So you need the Sword — is that blunt enough for you, Dumbles_?" Albus groaned at the nickname, having heard it a lot throughout his entire life.

"Yes, if I could have it, I'd be gone in a jiffy," Albus said quietly and a little irritably. His eyes followed Fawkes' flying form around the room. He kept fluttering from object to object, seemingly reacquainting himself with the room.

" _Unfortunately, not possible._ " The Hat almost sounded regretful. " _Only a Gryffindor — a true Gryffindor at heart — can pull it out._ "

"I _was_ a Gryffindor," Albus replied.

" _Exactly_ — was _._ "

Albus groaned, remembering that a few hours ago, he had been telling Draco what a Hufflepuff he was.

"Hat, please," he implored. The Hat gave a considering pause and it shuffled through his memories. One in particular: Harry appearing in his office after having unknowingly destroyed the diary, a Horcrux.

" _I do not recall this Sword of Gryffindor being coated with basilisk poison_ ," the Hat said after a moment. Albus frowned.

"Of course it was: Harry defeated the basilisk in his second year and slew it with the Sword of— _oh_ ," Albus broke off abruptly. He buried his head in his hands and lamented his intelligence, which had apparently been overtaken by his idiocy.

" _Yes,_ _Dumbledore, oh,_ " the Hat said smugly.

Albus had never even stopped to think about the fact that the only reason for the fact that the Sword had been coated with the poison had been _because_ Harry had defeated the serpent in his second year. It had _become_ a Horcrux-killing object _because_ Harry had existed.

The reborn wizard pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache slowly started to manifest. How careless and how presumptuous had he been! How proud — that he knew more than the people of this time. He felt humbled, and it did not feel pleasant.

" _Yes, you are an idiot, Albus._ " The Hat wasn't gentle in its delivery.

"My dear Hat, you have done an enormous service to an old man," Albus murmured once he had collected his thoughts.

" _Minerva's a terrible bore, come by more often, Albus,_ " the Hat ended with a softer tone, more endearing.

"That I shall, Hat."

Albus crossed the room quietly and then levitated the Hat back onto its proper shelf. Then, he pulled out a small stack of letters that he had spent an afternoon crafting and placed them on Minerva's unorganised desk. The letters were bogus, of course, but in them, Albus wrote Nicolas, telling him about Sirius Black's innocence.

Upon discovering the letters, Minerva would read them, and would instantly send them to Madam Bones, who would instantly instigate an investigation. If all went to plan, Sirius would be free within a few weeks. His work here finished, Albus clasped his hands together in satisfaction.

He had just turned around to face the window when he spotted a portrait staring directly at him: very awake and very scrutinising. Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes gazed at him with curiosity and sharp interest.

"Harry Potter, I believe," Dumbledore said quietly so as not to wake the other portraits.

"Albus Dumbledore, I presume," Albus replied with a smile. Both knowing who the other really was, chuckled at that.

"Quite an occasion, to meet oneself," Dumbledore remarked, looking down at Albus over his half-moon glasses. He missed them; he also missed the long beard.

"Indeed." Small pause. "How Minerva get's any work done with you chattering away behind her, is a mystery," Albus said with a small cheeky smile. The portrait hung directly behind the throne-like chair attached to the large mahogany desk.

"Minerva and Poppy are constantly discussing how annoying I am; after all, now I am free to jump between all the portraits in this castle," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I have always wanted to do so."

"I know," Albus laughed because he had had many similar daydreams.

"It seems very curious to me that you know, after all, you do seem to inhabit the body of Harry Potter."

Albus pursed his lips uncomfortably, knowing that he had even if unintentionally, thrown Harry's soul out from his body. "I was murdered in a parallel universe, at the age of 115. When I regained consciousness, it was in dear Harry's body," Albus confessed. When he had told Nicolas this story, he had been clinical and cold about this, but telling it to the disapproving stare of his past self, was another story.

"Nicolas is convinced that I was reincarnated, but this would not explain Harry's soul; had I been reincarnated as Harry, I would have been born with my soul. Instead I appeared in this world at the age of six, with Harry's soul removed from his body."

"Curious, indeed," Dumbledore muttered under his breath and steepled his fingers under his chin in thought. "I died in my sleep precisely five years ago, when you supposedly appeared in this world: perhaps forces wiser and more powerful than us attempting to regain balance in the universe?"

Albus nodded along; it seemed an interesting enough idea to consider.

"However, this would mean that to preserve that balance, be it good or bad, an equal to mine must've travelled here with me," Albus replied. Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck… This could only mean that Tom had come back with him, if Dumbledore's theory was correct.

"I, _we_ , make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being — forgive me — rather cleverer than most men, our mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger," Dumbledore said to him, unaware that that was something Albus had once said to Harry of his world.

"I have learnt some in my years as Harry," Albus said kindly to the younger (ironically) man in the painting. "Among them is my unimportance and my rather un-cleverness."

Dumbledore had the decency to blush at the admonition. "Careful, Albus, you're starting to sound very Socratic indeed."

Fawkes gave a sudden trill and they heard a muffled mumble of a password being said at the bottom of the stairs. Albus' eyes widened and he turned to look towards Fawkes.

"You won't tell, will you? You mustn't!" He asked the portrait. Dumbledore gave a small smile and shook his head.

"Minerva misses you terribly, Albus, you _must_ tell her sooner rather than later. Before it is too late."

Albus didn't reply and instead launched himself out the window, hoping to dear Merlin that Fawkes would catch him mid-air. Catch him mid-air he did, and soon they were landing in a heap of dust and squawks in the Hogwarts west courtyard.

When Minerva entered her office after her daily visit to the library, she found several odd things: Albus Dumbledore's portrait looked much happier than he usually did, and his eyes twinkled even more than was honestly possible in a portrait such as this. And unusually, the window had been left open. Perhaps the elves had chosen to air the room out?

Approaching the window (Dumbledore's eyes followed her every move), she was about to lean out, when she noticed a feather laying on the ground. A beautiful feather: simultaneously gold, red, orange, and yellow with a flickering tip resembling fire. A phoenix's feather. Gazing out the window, she caught no sight of anything odd happening outside (except the mess the quidditch interhouse cup had left last night) — what in the world was Fawkes up to, then?

* * *

Albus is pretty socratic in this story, isn't he? He considers himself rather an idiot, believes that if he has learnt anything from his experience as Harry it's that he actually doesn't know much, is gay (let's face it, Plato and Socrates? perf. pairing), etc.

I actually love the idea of Minerva knowing about the interhouse quidditch cup her entire Hogwarts career and actually sometimes waiting on standby in case someone gets hurt, and never telling Dumbledore. haha

I'm trying to remember as many school shenanigans as I can to put into this story: I remember very clearly comforting a friend when she was homesick and I remember a few attempts to find the kitchen before we even knew where it was (our 'house' so to speak (we called them 'groups') were locked during the night to avoid the student from walking around the school). I also remember a lot of late nights discussing avatar and eragon with my first roommate. There were SO many late nights reading Harry Potter fanfiction - and writing it too! I can just imagine Draco doing the same! Actually, when rereading Harry Potter as a teenager, I remember thinking how odd it was that there was never a single homesick person in the whole series who at some point had to be comforted. There were never any trivial illegal activities (in the books) like forbidden parties, smuggling alcohol into the school, smokers, etc.

The negative aspects were never discussed either: children are brutal, very brutal indeed. We had the so-called 'midnight showers'. An event that involved older students forcing us to go into the shower in the middle of the night. They played loud music or we had to spin in a circle and sing. Thankfully my friend and I were at the end of the hall so we would always lock ourselves in the bathroom and wait until the whole thing was over. Also I'm convinced Hogwarts is the only school in the world that serves good food. Urgh, rant over.

Also what in the world is happening to right now?! For the past day, it's been imperiously hard to simply update a story, update a doc, answer reviews or anything of the sort: get your shit on right, admins!


	10. Regret

You might wonder, why is Leonhard being so productive all of a sudden? The answer, my friends, my readers, is simple: procrastination! (Also this chapter was finished last week)

* * *

 _"The Greek word for "return" is nostos. Algos means "suffering." So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return." ~Milan Kundera_

.

"Excellent spell-casting, Harry, well done. Ten points to Hufflepuff," Remus Lupin said, admiring Albus' work on the dummy. They had been casting the _Knockback Jinx_ for the better part of an hour, with very little results on both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff front. Curiously though, collectively the Hufflepuffs seemed to be doing somewhat better than the Ravenclaws.

"Thank you sir," Albus replied, eyes twinkling.

" _Flipendo_!" continued the shouts. Nearing the end of the class, one of the dummies was thrown back into the wall with such force, that the arm broke off.

"Excellent, Miss Granger! Ten points!" The bell rang, and everyone instantly went in search for their bags. Albus mimed the tipping of a hat to Hermione Granger once he had caught her eye. The Ravenclaw blushed a little in response.

"You'd think that more Ravenclaws would've gotten the spell," Neville remarked as they hoisted their bags onto their shoulders and left the classroom for lunch. Around them, the classrooms and hallways were decorated for Halloween: even the ghosts had made an effort to look extra spooky (the Bloody Baron seemed even bloodier than usual).

"It is simply a matter of practice and skill, my friend," Albus said, patting the boy's shoulder.

"My auntie tells me I should practice an hour a day," Susan remarked, falling into step with them. At her side, Hannah Abbott.

"Correctly so, Susan," Albus beamed. The girl's grimacing expression told him that she wasn't of a similar opinion.

"You should form a study group, Harry," Neville piped up.

"A study group — of course, you know the material better than any of us!" Hannah said enthusiastically. Albus chuckled.

"Why, I do that anyway every day in the library!"

"No, Neville's right. We should form a study group with other houses—"

"—And other years!"

Albus slowly began to fall behind, so as not to get stuck in the middle of an obviously oncoming argument. Hannah, Neville, and Susan were 11-year-olds and such a trivial thing as this could be an empirical decision for them. Ahh, to be young…!

Albus chuckled to himself and thought himself alone, when all of a sudden another student popped up at his side. Hermione Granger.

"Ah, Hermione," he said kindly. "What may I do for you?"

The girl blushed and ducked her head. "I heard you talking about a study group. I study alone a lot of the time so I was wondering if I could maybe join you?" Her voice was timid and trembled slightly. Albus was shocked that Harry had helped her along to become this wonderful self-assured woman towards the end of her sixth year.

"Of course, my dear! I think Hannah, Neville, and Susan still have to iron out the details-" they both laughed at the arguing triumvirate as they disappeared behind a corner. "-but I am in the library every day anyway. My door, so to speak, is always open for you."

Hermione murmured a meek 'thank you'.

"Now, if you excuse me, m'dear, I must send a letter off before our next class!"

Albus bowed his head in farewell and made his way to the owl tower, where he knew Fawkes would be antagonising the Hogwarts owls. As he got to the top, Albus was forced to cast a warming charm on himself: it was the 31st of October, and Scotland was getting cold.

Fawkes was indeed playing around and annoying the owls when he got there. Upon seeing Albus, the phoenix glided down and settled on his shoulder. Albus smiled at his longest companion and gently admonished him for antagonising the other inhabitants of the tower.

"Dear friend, would you please deliver this letter to Nicolas?" Albus passed the letter to the phoenix who disappeared in a flash of flames. Merely seconds later, the avian reappeared on his shoulder, sans letter. Handing him a second letter to deliver to Petunia and Dudley, Albus left the tower and rushed down to the Great Hall, hoping to get some lunch before lessons began once more.

.

"Mummy, Mummy! What's Harry saying?! How's Hogwarts? Does he miss us?" Dudley was jumping around excitedly. He was still in his karate uniform, having just come home from training. Fawkes had just popped into the living room with a letter and now sat there, perched on the back of a chair, staring at Petunia with those intelligent eyes.

"Dudley, quiet down," she said a little sternly. Dudley instantly quieted and took the offered glass of milk. He sat down next to Fawkes and started petting him attentively.

 _Dear Petunia (and Dudley!),_

 _Hogwarts is incredible. We were woken last night by the fifth years to participate in the annual lake quidditch cup which is not sanctioned by the teachers. All of the students took part — all the Houses seemed to like each other for one night and morning!_

 _Fawkes and I have plenty of adventures, discovering hidden rooms in the castle, forbidden jewellery, and entering places we mustn't! Neville Longbottom, a good and dear friend, might visit in the yule holidays. He tells me he has never seen a muggle home and is frightfully interested._

 _Dudley writes to me daily saying how very dearly he would want to visit Hogwarts — and now he has been presented the perfect opportunity! My head of house, Professor Sprout is organising an open-door day for our parents, so that they may visit. Would you like to come? I would very much appreciate it._ (Petunia's eyes welled up a little at being referred to as a parent)

 _Tell Dudley I love him and that I hope he's being a good student,_

 _Regards,_

 _your nephew Harry._

 _._

The Hallowe'en feast was a sight to behold: the Entrance Hall and the Great Hall had been decorated to a point that both were almost half their original size. The tables had been turned into large circular tables at which members of all houses sat, and a small dancing area had been left free.

Albus and Neville had been preparing their costumes for weeks: Neville had chosen to go as an obscure herbologist and looked quite handsome in his 18th century cloak, short conjured beard, and glasses. Albus had, in contrast decided to go as Albus Dumbledore and had fashioned a long beard for himself that trailed after him on the floor. He had transfigured his round glasses into half-moon glasses. Albus had also used the occasion to dress in the most obscenely radiant cloak he could charm: it was a mixture of blue and orange and had dancing elves throwing pumpkins at each other.

"That's tacky," Ron Weasley blurted out as Albus and Neville sat down next to him. The young man was dressed as a ghoul and distastefulness etched his features as he stared at Albus' magnificent robes.

"Did you charm them yourself?" asked one Weasley twin, admiring the cloth.

"Blimey, Harry," said the other. They turned away to whisper confidentially amongst each other.

"What are you supposed to be?" Neville asked Hermione.

"A cat — see the cat ears?"

"Hm, ah yes," Neville seemed to have a hard time seeing them under her bushy hair. Albus sent a discreet enlarging spell at the ears to make them more noticeable.

"Are you Beaumont Marjoribanks?" Hermione asked. All of the conversations at the table stopped in an instant and everyone turned to stare at her. She blushed at the attention.

"Yes! See Harry — I knew someone would get my costume." Then turning to Hermione, he excitably said, "He was incredible, wasn't he?" Neville eagerly countered.

"I just read a book about him! Oh my God, he discovered Gillyweed, didn't he?"

Albus would've eagerly weighed in into the conversation to mention that Elladora Ketteridge had actually discovered Gillyweed almost a century earlier, but Minerva had just stood up to make an announcement.

"Now, now, quiet down!" Almost in an instant, the chatter ceased and everyone turned their heads in her direction.

"At the end of our last school year, professor Quirrel very tragically disappeared without a trace. professor Tufty very graciously filled in his position as professor of muggle studies." Albus leaned back in his seat, in thought. That explained why Minerva, although headmistress, taught transfiguration. She had been simply filling in for professor Tufty, whilst he taught muggle studies. Being a muggleborn, he had the natural predisposition to teach the subject.

"I am very pleased to announce," Minerva continued. "That a replacement has been found in Charity Burbage. We welcome you!" Charity stood up from her seat at her head table and bowed her head. Everyone clapped. Once she had sat down, Minerva resumed her speech.

"Caretaker Filch has asked me to not to wear outdoor shoes inside the castle, and the ghosts have asked me to inform you not to poke them. Now, without further ado, I declare the feast open!"

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. The atmosphere was in an instant, frightening and joyful: the first years all giddily threw themselves at the candy.

Albus very dearly hoped that he would be able to preserve the innocence and the joyfulness of the youth for as long as possible. Looking up at the head table, he saw all the professors cheerfully chattering on to each other, unaware the dangers that currently plagued the world. Voldemort would rise again, Albus was certain. And if the one from his timeline had travelled back to this one, then the war that would break out was certainly going to be even more vicious and dark than the previous one.

Mood suddenly very dark, Albus found that his appetite had disappeared. He placed the serviette back onto his empty plate, and silently slipped away: the other students were so immersed in their conversations that they never spotted Albus leaving. Once in the Entrance Hall, Albus aimlessly walked to the nearest staircase (he avoided the false step that would cause his foot to get stuck in the marble) and began ascending it.

There was something very melancholic about the castle tonight: something he couldn't put his finger on, but it was there. It was then, when he saw a small rat scuttling down the hallway. It was an odd rat, because it was streaked with white like an old person's hair might. Albus frowned and caught up to it.

Albus noticed something very remarkable: the rat was missing a finger! Eyes widening, he pulled out his wand. The rat turned its head just in time to see Albus adjusting his wand to point directly at him. There was a frozen moment when both creature and man stared at each other and then the rat streaked off: beginning a chase of cat and mouse.

Albus sprinted behind it, casting countless _petrificus totalus._ The rat was now sprinting down the hallway in a sort of zig-zag formation. He ran by a ghost who gave him the oddest stare and called after him, but Albus ignored the dead spectre.

Finally, when it seemed that the rat had managed to find a hole to slip into, Albus clipped it with a petrificus totalus. In an instant, the rat froze and dropped to the ground in mid-jump.

"Aha!" Albus cried out and dropped to his knees. He quickly took the rat and was about to slip him into his pocket when he felt a presence standing — or rather — hovering behind him.

"Why, it's Potty Wee Potter!" Peeves cried out, bouncing on the balls of his feet in the air. His bell-covered hat made ringing noises as he moved.

"Good evening, Peeves," Albus said pleasantly.

"Ohhhhh what has yous got there?" Peeves said in a shout-whisper. He flew in, just mere centimetres from Albus' hand and stared at the rat that the wizard had petrified.

"A rat! Potty's caught a rat!"

"He is not just _any_ rat, my dear Peeves," Albus said in a stage whisper, eyes shifting left and right. He had always had a soft spot for this poltergeist, although everyone had hated him.

"Oh?" Peeves said eagerly, eyes widening and mouth stretching into a large conspiratory smile.

"Yes, _oh_ — this rat is critical in solving Sirius Black's case — he was wrongly imprisoned!"

Peeves, who Albus knew loved a good conspiracy theory, covered his mouth in shock. His manners were extremely manneristic of a theatre actor.

" _No_!" the poltergeist exclaimed.

"Yes!" Albus replied.

"Sirius Blacky helped Peevsie. His Pottery friend made the water-balloons!"

" _That_ Potter!" Albus nodded eagerly. "You know how to get into the Headmistress's office, do you not?"

Peeves nodded eagerly, eyes still wide. Albus grinned.

"How would you feel about pranking the Headmistress?"

"Yes! Yes! Potty's like his father!" Peeves clapped his hands happily and pretended to sit down in mid air. Albus chuckled, indulging him.

"Let us drop this rat in her office: we might even scare her!"

Peeves maliciously rubbed his hands together eagerly, nodding. Trusting Peeves enough, Albus gave him the rat and grinned at the poltergeist.

"I am very much looking forward to working with you again, Peeves."

"Yessir Potty!"

The poltergeist disappeared in the direction of the headmistresses office, and Albus gave a sigh of relief. That, coupled with the letters that he'd dropped on her desk the last time he'd broken in, would seal Sirius' fate as a free man. Mood now superiorly better than it had been moments ago, Albus began making his way down to his dorm when he heard sobbing on the second floor.

Following this sobbing, he found himself in the second floor girls bathroom, the place that the ghost Moaning Myrtle had decided to haunt: The ghost was sobbing at the sinks, and kept looking up at her reflection and then wailing even louder when she saw her translucent state.

"Ai!" she shouted the moment that she spotted Albus awkwardly standing in the doorway.

"My dear, is everything alright?"

"Boys! Boy! Not allowed!" The ghost made a twirl in mid-air and then in a large arch, disappeared behind a toilet cabin door. Albus sighed, and entered the bathroom, no girls used it anyway as he had heard Minerva complaining on a weekly basis.

"Your name is Myrtle, is it not?" Albus continued kindly, advancing closer. The ghost sniffled loudly in her high-pitched voice.

"Y-yeah."

"Tell me, Myrtle, what has upset you so?"

"I was thinking of my death!" the ghost very suddenly threw herself through the stall door; her face was merely inches away from Albus' until she harrumphed and drew back.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful, it happened right in here. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny, a different language, I think it must've been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then... I died." She gave a loud sob and turned away from Albus.

"Nobody missed me even when I was alive. Took them hours to find my body — I know, I was sitting there waiting for them."

"Do you remember who that boy was?" Albus pressed, however knowing exactly who he was. Moaning Myrtle shook her head as a new wave of hysteria overtook her.

Albus calmly attempted to console her, and eventually she quieted down.

"Everything is fine, Myrtle. That boy is dead by now, he will not hurt you again," Albus murmured. And he knew he was right. Tom Riddle was dead, now only Voldemort existed.

"I was banished here by the ministry — and I have to look at my death-place every day of my life!" she exclaimed suddenly. Albus smiled sadly. It had been a truly harsh thing to do when the Ministry had banned her to the bathroom after she had spent years haunting that boy who had bullied her.

"Right here — I was murdered right here!" she swooped down to the sinks and looked into her reflection.

A new wave of hysteria hit her and she shot to a toilet and flushed herself. Albus stared after her for a moment, briefly shocked at her actions. Then finally, he walked over to the sinks and vainly gazed at his own reflection for a moment: his body had filled out somewhat in the past five years of better treatment, and gave him a healthy aura. His bright emerald eyes twinkled with light and joy of life. The scar was still prominent on his forehead and Albus gently swept down some hair to cover it. He didn't want to constantly remind himself of the war and of the losses.

Deciding to wash his hands after holding the rat that was Peter Pettigrew, Albus turned his attention towards the sink… and found something very peculiar indeed:

The tap on every single of these pentatonic sinks, looked odd. Very serpentine. And on the side, very clearly, he could see an etched in snake. Eyes widening in realisation, Albus took a step back: this was Slytherin's chamber! This was the entrance! It made so much sense: Fawkes had shown him images in his previous life of the chamber, and it had looked dark and damp. Much like a sewer might!

Concentrating on the snake, Albus commanded it to open and was shocked when a serpentine whisper left his mouth. For a moment everything was silent, until very slowly, the five sinks began moving backwards, then one of them disappeared into the ground allowing entrance to the pipe that had been created. Gasping at the complex magic at play, Albus leaned forwards and took a peek. All he could see was darkness.

Humming to himself, Albus was about to jump in, when he stopped himself. Harry had almost gotten killed when he had tried this in his second year. Due to pure valour and luck he had managed to live through the event. Albus' magic was nowhere near skilled enough yet to fight off a basilisk, parseltongue or not. He would have to wait until Nicolas Flamel got here. Then they would go down together.

He stepped back, and commanded the sinks to close. He had waited five years to be reintroduced to wizarding society; he could wait half a month for the open door day for parents.

.

It was nearing midnight when Minerva trudged out of the Great Hall. The feast had been slowly coming to an end and as twilight came, she instructed the other professors to gather the children up and send them to sleep. When finally, the last sleeping first year had been woken and sent to her dormitory, she pulled off her cat ears and left the Hall.

Walking up to the second floor (the third being where her office was situated), she almost physically knocked over a boy:

"Mr. Potter!" she exclaimed, once her eyes pulled focus and she had straightened her glasses. Harry did the same, and in the split second, before they sat on his nose once more, she caught a flash of a very familiar blue, causing her breath to catch.

"Professor!" the boy exclaimed in an equally scandalised tone. Then checking his odd planetary watch (which again, caused her to think of Albus), he seemed to almost jump in shock.

"Merlin! I hadn't realised that time had gone by as fast as this!"

"Indeed Potter, bed. Now," Minerva said, staring at him sternly over her glasses. The boy, who she knew had time-management issues, ducked his head and blushed.

"I apologise, professor." Whilst saying this, Potter raised a hand to stroke his conjured beard and she realised with sudden shock that he had dressed up as Albus Dumbledore for the Hallowe'en feast. She suddenly felt rather light-headed.

"As it is Hallowe'en, I shall not deduct points," she began. Potter's head popped up and he smiled charmingly at her. In an instant, his eyes began twinkling full-force, finally giving the whole 'Dumbledore' get up a finished look: after all, Albus without a twinkle in his eye was not Albus. "However, it is unacceptable to roam these corridors at this hour of the night."

Potter shuffled his feet, and nodded sincerely.

"And next time you dress up as Albus Dumbledore, ask a seventh year to charm your eyes blue, yes?" She pursed her lips. "And now bed."

"Of course, professor!" Potter instantly scrambled off, however seeming quite elegant as he did so. He walked in a way that no eleven-year-old walked, and it looked vaguely disturbing on such a young body. Minerva swallowed strongly: the resemblances between Potter and Albus were remarkable. She was sure they would have gotten on with each other like a house on fire.

She gave her password to the gargoyle, and ascended the staircase, even whilst it was moving. She was eager to get to bed and rest her old bones. Minerva wondered how Albus had done it all with such grace and elegance. She supposed it was because he had loved Hogwarts with all of his hearty. After all, he had lived most of his life here.

Minerva opened the doors to her office and was about to enter her quarters, when she had the greatest shock—

Laying on her desk, was a petrified rat. She cursed Peeves, because she knew he was the only one that could get into her office with such ease. Stalking to her desk in complete rage, she sat down and began riffling through scrolls of paper to find something with which she could pick up the rat. It was during this search, that she found a stack of papers that had somehow been lost in her 'in' box. A stack of letters. Instantly recognising the trademark handwriting, Minerva pushed the rat aside and turned to the letters. They were all dated sometime in the 80s. And as Minerva read them, her eyes widened and her jaw began to prop open in shock.

Because in these letters, Albus confessed to Nicolas Flamel of having suspected Sirius Black of being innocent. As the years progressed, the letters became more detailed. And very soon Minerva realised that Albus had been secretly gathering information to get Sirius out of prison. And in the last letter that Albus had written Nicolas, he discussed various theories of how Peter Pettigrew could have survived… and amongst them was a theory mentioning a rat, a missing finger, and an animagus.

Turning her gaze onto the petrified rat, Minerva very suddenly realised that she had seen this rat before: he had been Charles Weasley's, then Percy's, and now Ronald's… and he was missing a finger.

* * *

This is it for now! I have an important exam coming up and then I'm away for at least three weeks with no access to a laptop! Thanks for coming along in this journey for now!


	11. Reiteration

**This story has been laying around a metaphorical, virtual, dusty shelf for a while. I apologise. This chapter was written... maybe three months ago? I just completely negated to post it. Forgot about it. That's what university does to you, kids.**

 **Please forgive my mistakes; I haven't written in English for nearly four months and my brain is toast. Also, I just gave in three rather large projects and was given two more. Oh the joy of life.**

* * *

 _"College is like looking both ways before you cross the street and then getting hit by an airplane." ~Pintrest_

.

"Please state your name and status for the record."

"Sirius Orion Black, pureblood." He seemed to almost spit out that last word; with complete distaste. Minerva licked her lips anxiously as she sat in the viewing court area. Below her she could see a select few of the jury and the judge gazing intently at the almost disfigured figure sitting in a lone chair in the centre of the 'pit'.

"Mr. Black are you aware of where you are?"

Sirius' eyes raked over his audience, his eyes dark and serious. Indeed, very sane.

"The Ministry of Magic, courtroom three, the 'pit', a chair," Sirius said in his typical cocky manner. It was the first hint of humour that Minerva had seen in him since the aurors had dragged him in.

There was an edge to him of a man putting on a clown's mask for the first time in years and hadn't quite polished the corners quite yet.

"And are you aware, Mr Black of why you have been called here this morning?"

Sirius coughed a few times and seemed to try to speak but all that came out was a croaking sound. He pointed at his neck and was quickly brought some water and pain-dulling potion.

"The aurors said that I am being offered a trial," there was a note of suspicion in his tone. Minerva couldn't blame him.

"Indeed. New evidence has come to light that has forced the court to reconsider its previous verdict."

"Previous verdict?" Sirius repeated incredulously. Those that were aware of the conditions of his incarceration exchanged uneasy glances. After all, there hadn't been offered a trial, much less given a fair verdict.

"Ah yes, I apologise." The judge paused. "As I said new evidence has come to light; upon consideration and examinations of past records, your guilt of the murder of Mr. Peter Pettigrew and 12 further muggles has come into question. It also came to our attention that your fair trial and testimony was not admitted to court."

Whispers broke out in the civilian seats. Even Sirius lost some of the cynicism in his expression. His head popped up to look at the judge in shock and trepidation.

"Your testimony, Mr Black?" The judge prompted.

"My testimony…"

"Yes, Mr. Black, speak. What happened that day," The judge said somewhat impatiently. Sirius gazed down at his lap for a moment in contemplation. Then he began to speak:

"I must've been 18 when I joined the Order of the Phoenix: we aimed to get rid of Voldemort (people gasped in horror at the name. Even Minerva felt her body tense up nevously), seeing as the Ministry wasn't really doing a great job." There was another nervous shiver that swept the room. "We heard through various channels that _he_ was after James and Lily—"

"Let the record read James and Lily Potter," The judge interrupted.

"So there was an increased effort to keep them and their son safe. When Dumbledore finally found a house in Godric's Hollow which was safe enough he discussed the idea of the Fidelus Charm."

Here Sirius' voice broke and he coughed once or twice so as not to give away to tears.

"We thought I was too obvious for the choice as Safe keeper so we made everyone think that it was me, so as to divert attention away from Peter," Sirius spat his name out in derision. Ten years in Azkaban because of that rat, Minerva thought, literally.

"W-when I heard that they were dead, I knew that Peter must've betrayed us and I went after him. He... had under my and James' tutelage become a rat animagus and could turn into a rat. When I cornered him in that muggle street, he cut off his finger and turned into his animagus form. I suspect he disappeared into the sewers. I was then apprehended by aurors."

"Thank you Mr. Black for your testimony," the judge said.

Minerva watched the proceeding events in silence, listening to her horror how at how terribly everyone had misestimated the situation. Peter Pettigrew was called to the stand and a slightly disfigured old man scrambled forwards. It seemed that his stint as a rat had called forth some of the uglier characteristics of that type of animal: his ears protruded strongly, and his eyes bulged, quickly shifting from person to person. His teeth stuck out like a rat's would, an attribute that Minerva was sure he hadn't had before.

Pettigrew sat down somewhat nervously. An Auror came forth with the Ministry's law-book. "Sir, do you swear by magic to tell the truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth?" Pettigrew gave a meek yes. He was enveloped by a gold chain of light that bound him to the book. He was now in the hands of Magic: she was just and would decide if his truth was true.

"Name and status please," the judge asked.

"Peter Pettigrew, half-blood," the man said. A few gasps sounded in the court-room when his identity was proven true.

It was nearing noon on the third day of these court proceedings when Peter Pettigrew was proclaimed guilty and Sirius Black innocent. The trial of the century.

.

"HARRY!" Dudley's voice reverberated down the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Albus turned away from the conversation he'd been having with Hermione Granger's muggle parents, just in time to catch the leaping blur. Laughing he spun the boy around, but after a single turn had to put him back down: by Merlin! Dudley had grown in the past two months!

"Hello cousin," Albus said kindly. Dudley very slowly separated himself from Albus and gazed up to him. The wizard very suddenly realised how much taller than Dudley he was: he had certainly shot up somewhat in the last two months.

"How was the Hogwarts Express?"

"A bit long," Dudley said. Albus chuckled, knowing that Dudley had a naturally restless personality. The trip would have been torture for him.

"But you liked the sweets?"

"You're not getting anymore of those," Petunia said, having caught up to them. She smiled at her son fondly who pouted, then turned to look at her nephew. "Hello, Harry."

Years ago, Albus had denied Petunia the chance to come to Hogwarts: he had explained in a kind and lengthy letter that she did not have magic, and could therefore not attend this school. From what he had seen of Harry's previous home-life this had left her quite scarred indeed. So now, watching as she stared at everything with wide eyes and a wide mouth, he felt somewhat a little redeemed.

"Lily attended _this_ school?" Petunia asked after a moment, staring at the decorations around them: the stood in the Entrance Hall. To the right, were the large oak doors that led to the Great Hall and to their left was the large ceremonial staircase made of white marble with a balustrade of red and green marble. It divided itself into two divergent flights of stairs that lead to the Gand Foyer above them.

The ceiling above them had been painted by Isidore Pils to depict _the Triumph of Apollo_ , _the Enchantment of Music Deploying its Charms_ , _and_ _Minerva Fighting Brutality Watched by the Gods of Olympus._ It was a truly magnificent sight, if one had not ever seen something of the kind. Even Albus sometimes caught himself staring at the majestic interior of the castle.

"Most wizards and witches of magical Britain attended Hogwarts," Albus remarked. Then suddenly, over Petunia's shoulder, he saw Nicolas had just entered through the main doors. He picked up a name-tag from Filch and fitted it on his suit lapel. It read: Mr. Llama, which Albus knew was Spanish for Flame.

In Pomona's roster, he had put in the names of Dudley, Petunia, and Nicolas as his family, so that the latter could gain access to the school. It had worked swimmingly. So whilst Petunia and Dudley were busy with various activities that the older students had organised for the visiting parents of the first years, Albus and Nicolas would slip away to siphon away some basilisk poison.

"Ah, Dudley, meet my good friend Neville Longbottom." Neville, who had been awkwardly standing next to his grandmother while she talked to Flitwick, turned and grinned when he caught sight of Albus' small family.

"Dudley!" The young boy looked startled. "Harry tells me a lot about your adventures!"

"Oh, well he writes a lot about you," Dudley replied. He was being awkward and shy.

"Now, now, boys, what is this dawdling about?" Mrs. Longbottom had turned on them. She was frowning down at her grandson. He immediately ducked his head, suddenly shy. Albus frowned: it seemed her dominating nature was not benefiting Neville that much.

"Mrs Longbottom, allow me to introduce you to my aunt, Petunia Dursley." Albus watched them shake hands, feeling somewhat nervous. Petunia looked hesitant, having never met any magical person other than James Potter and her nephew. Mrs. Longbottom, whilst not a pureblood supremacist, _was_ somewhat of a posh snob (the hat with the vulture in it said it all).

"I hear my son is friends with your nephew," Mrs Longbottom commented. Petunia smiled at the two boys in question.

"Yes, Harry only writes about the adventures they have together."

"Adventures, hm?" she peered at Neville over her glasses, he shrunk further. "It'll do you good, of course, grow some backbone and all," she said primly.

"Come on," Dudley whispered and pulled Albus and Neville from under the crossfire. "Your nan is a piece of work," Dudley said bluntly.

"She wanted me to go to Gryffindor. Like my dad and mum," Neville said after a moment. His eyes were suspiciously moist. Albus pressed a hand against his elbow.

"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, my dear friend. Your loyalty and friendship is what your friends value, and not your foolhardiness."

"Yeah, exactly," Dudley weighed in. However, from the amounts of letters that Albus had written him, he was sure that Dudley had a deep understanding of their friendship.

"Thanks guys," Neville smiled. They turned briefly to look at the two adults, Petunia was saying something with a hard expression and Mrs. Longbottom looked somewhat cowed.

"Well, mummy's chewing her out now," Dudley said slowly. Albus laughed.

"Shall we? Before Petunia completely munches her up?"

"—Neville is perfectly fine in Hufflepuff! He's a good friend and is who he is. You better start loving him for who he is—"

"Uh… mummy, Harry says he wants to show you the library," Dudley interrupted. Albus needed a moment to catch up and was briefly flustered when everyone turned to look at him.

"Ah! The library! Of course," Albus gestured in the direction of the staircase. Petunia harrumphed and crossed her arms. Albus coughed uncomfortably and Neville actually smirked.

Once they were somewhat farther up the staircase, Petunia rounded on the two boys. "Am I embarrassing you two?"

"No, no, of course not," Dudley said in a terribly high-pitched tone. Albus shot him a sideways glance.

They entered the library (a few seventh years were studying for exams and quizzes that strewn out throughout the year for them — Tonks waved at Albus upon seeing him) and the reborn wizard showed them around. He even stopped by his usual study-table where a few students were already seated and were waiting for his council.

"Ah, hello Miss. Patil, Mr. Weasley."

"Harry!" Pavarti fluttered her eyes at him in her usual coquettish fashion. Albus' eyes slipped off her quickly (Dudley elbowed him suggestively). "We've been stuck on that essay for transfiguration — so we thought you might know _why_ alpha times sigma equals intent?"

Albus gave his aunt and Dudley a small apologising smile, and quickly explained the concept to the other two first years. Pavarti beamed at him once he had given her his explanation. Then finally catching sight of Petunia and Dudley behind Albus, she blushed.

"Oh hello, I didn't see that you were with someone."

"Bugger — the parents' day is today!" Ron exclaimed and began rapidly gathering his things. Albus chuckled.

"Indeed. If I'm not mistaken, I saw your brothers being admonished by your mother."

" _Bugger._ " Ronald quickly ran off, followed by Pavarti who gave Albus one last giggly wave.

"Pavarti and Harry kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love—" Dudley began in a sing-song voice. Petunia quickly shushed him, but even she was smiling behind her hand. Albus was clearly uncomfortable with the situation: he could feel the back of his neck becoming somewhat warm as blood rushed to his face — and to think that he was usually so dignified!

"Ehem, shall we?"

.

Albus gave them a rough tour of Hogwarts, Dudley paused at everything obviously magical and stared at it with fascination, much like Arthur Weasley would a muggle item. Everything was new and wonderful to him and like the child that he was, he held no prejudice towards it, unlike Petunia. She, however, seemed to be struggling to accept it all, and refused point blank to ascend to the higher floors via the moving staircases.

When it was nearing lunch-time, Albus guided them back to the Great Hall where he introduced them to professor Sprout. This was when Albus sneaked off.

He stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall for a few minutes until Nicolas suddenly melted away from the shadows. They shook hands eagerly.

"Albus! Good to see you again!"

Albus grinned at him and noticing the odd look a sixth year shot them as he passed them, he inconspicuously tapped the scar on his forehead. Nicolas Flamel coughed uncomfortably, and then quickly catching on, loudly said:

" _Harry_! Looking good as ever!"

"Shall we, Mr. Llama?" Albus asked, gesturing in the direction of the second floor girls' bathroom Llama being the Spanish for flame, a clever little play on the name Flamel. The alchemist looked around, and made sure no unwanted ears or eyes were hearing or looking in, then cast a spell in a wide arch. In an instant, their footsteps were inaudible, their bodies invisible, and their conversation nonexistent to the naked eye.

"Much better. How are the prepubescent children treating you, Albus?" Nicolas folded his hands behind his back, in the fashion that elderly people often did.

"Very well, in fact. There were a few tiffs here and there… it's very good to be back," he said quietly and humbly. Nicolas chuckled when the castle almost seemed to pulse with warmth.

"Well, they're no **Penerelle** to deal with," said the alchemist. Truthfully the man probably hadn't seen his wife for several months, but to them a month or a year or two probably was not as much time as it was for a mortal human being.

"Ah, a firecracker," Albus replied with a grin.

"Indeed." The pause between them stretched out as they climbed the staircase.

"As for that little scarred head of yours—" Albus shot him a disapproving look, which was easily ignored. "I am certain I have found a way to destroy it."

"You have!" Albus exclaimed delightfully.

"Well, not without killing you first." Nicolas didn't like to beat about the bush. Albus' heart sank. "Horcruxes have been attempted many times throughout history," there was a pause, "Even _I_ tried one before I knew the evil that it was. However, this is the first time that such a small shard has attached itself to a living soul. Had it been larger and more developed than a baby's, it most probably would have taken over."

"But what _have_ you figured out?"

"Killing the Horcrux isn't particularly hard," Nicolas continued as though he had never been interrupted. "The hard thing is separating it from your soul. Over the past few years they have grown intwined. Ripping it away from your soul would be like creating a Horcrux of sorts: same process. You kill, a shard of your soul is ripped away. Albeit, a shard that was never meant to be there in the first place."

"I shall not kill," Albus replied firmly. Nicolas rolled his eyes.

"No, no, we must simply mimic the evil act."

"Hm," Albus hummed. Nicolas caught sight of his unenthusiastic expression.

"Pen proposed another way—" Albus looked up at him in interest, knowing from the tone that this was a more realistic, and therefore more dangerous way to achieve the same. "—We could, ehem, kill you, but target the shard with a certain potion—"

"Your intent is to _murder_ me?"

"I'm working on the arithmetics, but yes, Pen is confident that it would work."

"Quite charming," Albus replied sarcastically.

"Oh Albus, sarcasm doesn't befit you! Where is that endless optimism of yours!?"

"Apparently, it will soon be in a coffin, along with my corpse," Albus said morosely. Nicolas laughed merrily. As they stopped in front of the second floor girl's bathroom, the alchemist raised an incredulous bathroom.

"Slytherin's Chamber is underneath a _bathroom_?"

They entered the bathroom — thankfully Myrtle was nowhere to be seen — and Albus gave the password needed to enter the pipe that would lead them down to the actual chamber. Nicolas peeked down, pressing his arms against the two sinks and leaning forwards, so as not to fall.

" _Must_ we jump in?" Nicolas, having lived through centuries of gentleman behaviour was easily shocked when the time came to getting dirty.

"Apparently so," Albus said, eyes twinkling. Nicolas harrumphed and then turned to stare at the pipe in constrained concentration. Then his lips parted and a whisper of a word slipped out that Albus somehow perfectly understood: he was speaking parseltongue!

" _Stairs, please,_ " Nicolas intoned. Albus gaped as suddenly bricks began materialising out of the walls of the pipe and to the centre of said enclosure. They arranged themselves in a spiral of floating bricks which one could take for steps.

Nicolas actually looked down at Albus over his shoulder and smirked.

"You know parseltongue!" Albus exclaimed in an accusing tone. Nicolas gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"I picked up a word here and there." With that, the old wizard disappeared into the chasm below.

Once Albus had gathered his wits, he followed. Eventually, he cast the _lumos charm_ , so as not to trip over himself. They descended in silence, and in the distance they began to hear the sound of dripping water. The circle of light above them began getting smaller and smaller and the sounds of running water louder.

Finally, the pipe began to flatten out until they were spilt out into a small, circular chamber with an onion roof, at the top of which was a little oval through which Albus could see fish swimming by — they were directly below the lake! Albus turned away from said oval and to an enormous brass door upon which sat seven silver snakes, each one stretched out in another direction.

"Slytherin certainly knew how to fulfil the textbook villain," Nicolas said after a moment. Albus frowned.

"It seems to me that the characteristics of a villain emerged from emulations of Slytherin's supposed wickedness and not from said man."

Nicolas hummed in thought and then gestured to the door. "Do you know the word for open? I do not believe the word ever crossed my path."

"And yet stairs did?"

Nicolas shrugged end gestured impatiently at the door. It was true, they didn't have much time. Concentrating on said door, Albus murmured the word for open. They watched in fascination as the snakes slithered back; one by one the locks were unlocked with a large clanking sound. When the door finally swung open, Nicolas whistled.

Beyond them a long platform was revealed. On either side, the platform was framed by enormous snake heads that emerged from the water: their jaws were open, giving the whole chamber a rather ominous look. The end of this platform spilled out onto a large circular chamber: it was lit by another oval opening at the top through which Albus could see the clouded sky, very reminiscent of the Pantheon in Rome.

However, the majestic statue opposite them had a height of at least thirty metres and a width of at least double that. The strands of hair of the sculpture ended in the heads of a snake, reminding Albus of Medusa, or perhaps even a sort of Hydra: certainly very ominous visage.

"Remind me what they say about overcompensation," Nicolas mumbled to himself as they walked along this passage, having checked for unpleasant curses or warms. He spun around in a circle once he had reached the centre of the room. Even for his lewd comment, he didn't even seem to think it himself: this was not the work of an 'overcompensating' man, rather the work of a severely powerful and self-obsessed one.

"I believe the basilisk hides behind that," Albus said, nodding his head towards the majestic bust of the Hogwarts founder. They stopped merely a few steps in front of this statue and gazed up at the tip of the nose that towered over him.

"As discussed?" Nicolas said, still staring at the imposing statue ahead. Albus licked his lips nervously.

"Yes, let's."

Nicolas took that short opportunity to hide between Salazar Slytherin's 'strands' of hair and Albus strode back to the centre of the room. Then closing his eyes to concentrate (and, well, a basilisk's gaze _could_ kill), he spoke:

" _Oh great basilisk, I beseech you, help me, the heir of Salazar Slytherin, in my most honourable and majestic quest_!" Albus cried out in the most Seneca-esque way. The silence was broken only seconds later: Salazar Slytherin's jaw dropped — very literally — and Albus heard something rough begin moving against the stone. He kept his eyes tightly shut.

" _Who dares to disturb my sleep?"_

It was decidedly odd that a basilisk's hiss could be translated to an understandable language to Albus. It was as though someone were whispering the two sentences in two languages simultaneously: one in Parseltongue, and one in English.

" _You reek of my master's bloodline_ ," the basilisk hissed. Albus decided not to correct it. It probably just smelt the little but of soul still embedded in his scar. The snake continued: " _But that is not all, your blood is impure… a traitor!"_

The basilisk arched back, preparing for an attack. Albus could see Nicolas stepping out of the shadows of Salazar Slytherin's granite strands of hair, when another plan began to formulate itself in Albus' mind. They had planned to get the poison by brute force, a strategy which he had never been fond of, but which Nicolas had insisted was much more effective and quick. But if he could trick…

" _Tom Riddle_ -" those two words seemed to halt the basilisk in its tracks. " _You know of Tom Riddle? His blood was impure too… and he is the most powerful wizard of the 20th century!"_

The Basilisk seemed to mull it over, and slowly the large body of muscle and scales slowly began to settle back down. The tip of it's tail continued to shift impatiently, but at least Albus had managed to calm it somewhat. Nicolas retreated back into the shadows, now that the danger wasn't immediate.

" _I smell another…_ " There was a long pause. " _Reveal yourself!"_

" _We seek your help_ ," Albus murmured once Nicolas had stepped out of the shadows, both hands in the air. The basilisk switched its attention back to Albus causing him to have to shut his eyes again.

"My _aid_?" The basilisk actually sounded sceptical. Albus allowed a small smile to his face.

" _In me, there is a dangerous foe that can only be defeated with your poison: I propose a deal."_

 _"_ _A deal…"_ the basilisk hissed out, seemingly caressing each vowel. Albus could feel Nicolas' unrestful magic against his own. Even though the former could not understand the language, he certainly could pick up on mood innuendos in the voices of the participants of the conversation.

" _Yes, in return for your poison, I shall give you freedom,"_

"Albus, psst, what are you telling it?" Nicolas whispered suddenly and Albus almost reeled backwards, surprised that the other wizard had ended up so close to him.

"We're making a deal."

"A deal? How unlike you, Albus."

" _Freedom!_ " the basilisk seemed delighted about the though. " _I have never had freedom!"_

" _Alas, my dear basilisk! It is freedom for which we struggle! Freedom is the ultimate goal: to be explore forests, eat what one wishes to eat, and sleep where one wishes to sleep."_

 _"_ _Yessssss_ ," the word sounded almost human and Albus felt Nicolas tense up in anticipation next to him.

Albus had given the basilisk the opportunity to fall a little bit in love with the idea of freedom, and now he could set restrictions, and it would agree to all of them, just to be let out of this godforsaken little chamber.

" _I would ask you to remain within the Forbidden Forest,"_ Albus said in a nonchalant tone. The basilisk seemed to consider this for a moment and then agreed. " _And when I call you and the other snakes of the forest to my aid, I will expect you to come._ "

There was a long tense silence.

"What just happened?" Nicolas whispered. Albus licked his lips.

"I set my conditions for its freedom."

"Freedom! Albus, are you mad?! You can't release a basilisk!"

"Hence the conditions."

" _These terms are acceptable to me_ ," the basilisk said, cutting Nicolas off.

" _You have my gratitude._ "

* * *

 **Can I please note that I am not studying law and am not planning to? I have absolutely no idea what or how a court of law proceeds; especially not in England, much less wizarding Britain. So if you plan on correcting me, please do so and I shall correct whatever terminology I have gotten wrong! Thanks!**


	12. Road to Nowhere

There was a thunderstorm last night - beautiful lightning. Just incredible. The whole sky was lit up like it was on fire. Wifi was out, and I had just given in a project that morning, so I sat down to write and this chapter happened. After an extended author's block, it is quite thrilling to have nature itself break through it. Very excited to bring this chapter to you because it finally begins two move the story forwards. The last 45 thousand words were merely set up to what is going to begin happening now. Enjoy!

* * *

 _"You'll come to see that a man learns nothing from winning. The act of losing, however, can elicit great wisdom. Not least of which is, uh... how much more enjoyable it is to win. It's inevitable to lose now and again. The trick is not to make a habit of it."_ ~Uncle Henry Skinner, A Good Year

.

November blew past in a gust of cold wind, bringing with it storms of snow. December quickly snuck up on Hogwarts' porch and thoughts of Christmas and holidays became a common topic during meals. The ceiling in the Great Hall began to reflect the picturesque winter weather, and prefects began teaching younger students how to utilise the warming charm. The kitchens were now more often than not, serving hot chocolate, and the house-elves handing out scarves and mittens.

December had just found it's beginning when Albus got a letter from Petunia pleading him to come home for the holidays. He had, in a previous letter to her, explained that as much as he wanted to come home, he had been invited to stay with Neville for the holidays. In fact, he and Nicolas were going to take advantage of the freedom that Hogwarts offered to students staying there during the holidays, and would jointly attempt to find a way to treat Albus' condition.

From Hufflepuff, only Albus and another seventh year had decided to not go home. An orphan in Slytherin who had no home to go to joined them at the breakfast table on the first day of holidays. As did two Gryffindors (among them, Ronald Weasley) and a Ravenclaw. Indeed, they were such a small group that even the teachers outnumbered them.

So when Albus wandered in for some breakfast on the 21st of December, he was surprised to find that the four House tables and Head table were missing. Instead, the elves, likely at Minerva's behest, had set up one long, horizontally-positioned table, with teachers on one side, and the students on another.

Humming merrily, Albus sat down directly in front of professor Filius Flitwick, eyes twinkling when the man gave a cheerful good morning. Their short conversation was about the weather and about the Weasley twins who had organised a legendary, annual snow-ball fight that had prolonged throughout the entire Sunday until the teachers had been forced to disband the celebrations.

The third year Slytherin, Mara Charon, gave a timid 'hello' before sitting down across Minerva.

"Ah! Mr Potter! A very good morning to you!" Elias Tofty said in his typical cheery fashion. Albus greeted him just as cheerfully.

"How's that essay coming along, Harry?" he asked. Albus, who had just finished writing it up the night before, allowed himself a small smirk.

"Finished, I admit."

"Oho, already?" Horace piped in, looking dapper in his Yule seasonal robes. "Quite an extraordinary student, Mr. Potter!"

"I confess," Albus began. "I used that pass for the restricted section you gave me, sir, for slightly more nefarious means," he addressed both professors. Elias Tofty and Horace exchanged a concerned but curious look. Filius, who was talking to Ronald, kept shooting them interested glances, evidently catching one or two words.

"I am by nature… and incurious person—"

"Ah-ah-ah, curiosity killed the kneazle," Tofty said, but Albus could see that he was intrigued.

"And satisfaction brought it back," Albus countered causing Horace to give a small belt of laughter.

"Mr. Potter, do go on," Horace said, eagerly awaiting Albus' explanation. Said boy cleared his throat and quickly noted that most of the table's occupants' attention had swerved towards him.

"Conjuration, I admit, is a subject that has rather interested me since I saw a seventh year practicing it: in it's very basic and primitive explanation it is a transformation of air particles into, say, atoms that in certain combinations make up the genome of a… ah! pelican. In such a case, one could perfect the pelican: its organs would function perfectly and without fault and its plumage could be as the caster envisions it and it would live until the conjuration expires. Has one then created life? A magical artificial intelligence? A soul?"

Both professors whistled. Horace, a very capable and intelligent wizard in his own right, rubbed his hands together, eager for a debate. Tofty, in comparison actually seemed to want to humour Albus with his questions. Actually, this very topic had been his Mastery thesis in his past life and still very much intrigued him.

"I don't remember giving you an essay about conjurations," Tofty said with a kind and knowing look. "If I am not mistaken, and I am not, the subject is first addressed — nay — hinted at, in your fifth year."

"I know sir, I'm just very intrigued by the topic."

"Hm, why don't you come by my office in the afternoon? I have a few textbooks that might interest you. We can discuss the topic further," Tofty said, his excited tone carrying to the other end of the table, where Minerva was conversing with the shy Slytherin girl. Her eyes, however, continuously seemed to fall on Albus.

"I would like that very much, professor. Thank you."

"Pass the salt, will you, Harry?" Ronald asked from his right. Albus automatically swished his wand which had been holstered on his forearm under his cloak. The salt levitated itself right into Ronald's awaiting hand. Filius, the resident charms professor raised an eyebrow and exchanged an impressed glance with Tofty and Horace.

"Restricted section?" Filius said in an unbelieving tone, both eyebrows raised as he stared at Albus over his spectacles.

"Alas, if knowledge is true wealth, then I wish to become the richest I can possibly be!"

After the long drawn out breakfast that stretched into a sort of brunch, the professors quickly retired to whatever professors did during their holidays and the students jogged outside to enjoy the crisp air and fresh snow. Albus, as opposed to his fellow pupils, was pulled aside by Minerva towards the end of the meal.

"Mr. Potter, would you accompany me to my office?"

"Certainly, ma'am. Am I in trouble?"

"Ah, no. You're quite alright Mr. Potter."

They walked to the revolving gargoyle in silence. The password she gave was of a muggle sweet which caused Albus to momentarily choke up with emotion. Minerva had always been aware of his fondness and weakness towards muggle confections prompting him to use them as the password to his office. They ascended to the room itself and once the door was safely shut, Minerva gestured to the plush armchair while she sat down in her own wooden throne-like chair, that still had Godric Gryffindor's initials etched into the back of it.

"Mr Potter, I am unsure of how to convey this information to you and as such I would prefer to be blunt."

"I would prefer that too, professor." The portrait of Dumbledore behind Minerva's desk rolled his eyes at Albus' comment, knowing that he was anything but blunt.

"Eleven years ago, quite exactly a day after you parent's death, a Mr. Sirius Black was apprehended for having given up his best friend James Potter, your father, and blowing up a street — magically — full of muggles, thereby killing Mr. Peter Pettigrew, another childhood friend, and a further twelve muggles."

"I have gathered as much from the papers, professor."

"Yes, yes. What the papers however omit, is that Sirius Black was your godfather and therefore your legal wizarding guardian. I am sure you have read too that he was recently released after a proper investigation was made and it was discovered that Mr. Peter Pettigrew still lived and that he, indeed, had been the one to commit his own staged murder and that of twelve muggles."

Albus was beginning to see why he had been brought up to this office.

"Mr. Black, after various months in… assisted living at St. Mungo's, has expressed the interest to meet you. He was, after all, very good friends with your father." Here, Minerva's expression softened to a kind, yet small, smile. "He wished me to assure you that a declination to meet him will not be taken ill. He and you are strangers—"

"I do wish to meet him," Albus said, briefly licking his lips nervously. Technically Sirius wasn't _his_ godfather…! Sirius was godfather to Harry… and he, an impostor, didn't deserve to take advantage of his love!

"Very well," Minerva said, coughing and rearranging a few papers on her desk. "I am very glad to hear that, Mr. Potter."

.

As the green flames descended and then disappeared and the warmth to the fireplace began to return, Albus quickly made a graceful exit. He emerged out into a brick room used in the Three Broomsticks by particular clientele who were either in good standing with Madame Roberta, or were bootlegging forbidden alcohol. Albus knew this because Elphias Dodge had once attempted a money-making scheme to try and finance his trip abroad (and of course, some of the Gryffindor parties).

Stepping out, Albus dusted off his robes, knowing that in Hogsmeade he was out of Hogwarts' range and could not perform magic without the Ministry instantly breathing down his back, even in a completely magical village. The red door flew open and the charming patroness of the tavern ushered him into the general eating area.

"Minerva told me you were coming, darling," she said in a rather sweet way. Albus gave her a kind smile and nodded in thanks. "Then gentleman's right here." Madame Roberta gestured to a more private area in a corner of the bar. This being the middle of the day, it was relatively empty and as such they were in no particular danger of being overheard.

"Many thanks, madame," Albus said with a short bow of his head. Her smile stretched out even more. She gave him two menu's.

"I'll be right with you two," with that, she spun around and made her way back to the kitchens.

Albus approached the booth slowly, feeling very out of place in what was sure to be a very emotional encounter. His eyes settled on the back of Sirius' head. His hair had been trimmed to a socially acceptable length and was brushed back to the nape of his neck. Said head was dipped down as the person it belonged to considered the items on the menu.

So when Albus walked into his line of view and awkwardly coughed, Sirius jumped up in shock and his face broke out into a huge smile that dominated his entire face.

"Harry!" he cried, grinning like a fool. "Merlin, I didn't hear you sneak up on me!"

Albus cleared his throat again and smoothly slipped into his gentle character as Harry Potter:

"Mr. Black, Headmistress McGonagall tells me you requested a meeting with me," Albus stretched out his hand and offered it to his godfather. Then something very unpredictable thing happened; Sirius' smile slipped right off his face, leaving a rather pained look in his eyes.

"Oh Harry… someone must have told you! I'm family — I'm your godfather!"

"I was informed," Albus mumbled, cocking his head to the side. Then noting that Sirius wasn't about to take his hand, he retracted it and gestured for him to sit down. The former prisoner did so and Albus followed suit. They sat in awkward silence for a moment longer, each evaluating the other with squinted eyes.

"I was best friends with your father," Sirius blurted out abruptly after they had called in their order for a chicken pie and two mugs of butterbeer.

"You were?" Albus pretended not to have known. In fact, he knew all about the mischief that they — James Potter and Sirius Black — had cooked up (sometimes very literally via potions) whilst at Hogwarts.

"Yeah. Jamie, Remus, and… _Peter_ and I were known as the marauders during our school-time. James got me out of a few tight bits… I owe him a lot."

"Pranking is… not unfamiliar to me," Albus said, eyes twinkling. Indeed, during his school days, he and Elphias had been the marauders' equivalent; of course, no one had known them as pranksters. To this day, he still enjoyed a good joke — and April Fool's day, while a muggle invention, had always been Minerva's bane of existence whilst he had been headmaster.

"I knew there was something of your fathers' in you!" Sirius cried out. Madame Roberta chose that moment to come by with their orders and winked at them. She walked off, hips swaying. Sirius' head twisted as he stared at her retreating form. It occurred to Albus that the man had been quite celibate for the past eleven years.

"Oh man… I can tell you so many stories of the pranks we cooked up — one time we actually managed to turn Dumbledore's beard pink! It stayed like that for a week or more. Well, knowing him, he probably thought it was a fashion statement and kept it that way until McGonagall forced him to change it."

… That was remarkably accurate. Albus stroked his smooth chin thoughtfully; he felt mildly offended: his fashion sense was perfectly intact!

"Anyway, I wanted to meet you before Christmas, because I, er, wanted to give you a gift." Out of his pocket, Sirius pulled out two objects: one a shrunken down package that looked remarkably like the outline of a broom, and another a tattered old parchment leaf. Albus pursed his lips when he realised he himself had not bought anything for the former prisoner.

"How kind," Albus said, truly touched.

"I'm not allowed a wand yet, while they continue to heal me mentally, so you'll have to ask a seventh year to unshrink that — it's a nimbus 2000! Fastest broom on the market!"

"Remarkable…" Albus picked up the matchstick-sized package and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger.

"The real magic's here, though," Sirius said gleefully. He unfolded the parchment (which proved to be not so small, after all). He pressed his finger against the middle of it and said the following words:

" _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._ " At first nothing happened, but Sirius continued staring at the parchment with concentration and after a moment, a drop of ink seemed to fall into the centre of it, quickly spreading through the entire page until a very familiar building appeared: A map of Hogwarts!

"Merlin!" Albus stared at it wide-eyed, amazed at the intricacy of the spell-casting. As he watched, names of people currently traversing the castle began to appear, here and there. Pausing every now and then. _This_ was how the Marauders had so rarely been caught!

"It usually takes shorter to appear with a wand," Sirius said. He was grinning, though, enjoying Albus' reaction.

"Your dad and I made that in third year. Remus Lupin, a really good friend of ours — and your Defence professor (we did always call him 'the Professor) — did most of the casting. We made two of these. Your father's version must actually still be locked up in Filch's office."

"Incredible!" Albus had no other words for it. He picked up the fragile parchment and turned it over in his hands, marvelling at the amounts of charms that had been layered over each other. For a brief moment, he shut his eyes and let his magic stretch out and examine the casting.

"If I am not mistaken… this is a mutated version of the _Homonculous charm_?" He asked, opening his eyes. Sirius blinked at him, surprised.

"McGonagall wasn't kidding when she told me you were smart," the man said with a chuckle. "To be honest, you'd have to ask Remus, I just influenced the aesthetics and the messages."

"…Messages?" Albus questioned. Sirius' grin became almost predatory and he put his finger on the map once more.

"Snape demands to know your secrets!" he called out. In an instant, a message appeared in the stead of the map.

 _Dear greasy Snivellus, Messrs Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail plead you to keep your hooked nose out of our business! Good day!_

A small frown marred Albus' face. As ingenious as this map was, he had never and would never condone bullying. At the time, he had not recognised the full extent of the Marauders' actions against Severus, vicious as they had been, and had waved them away as boys teasing boys. He regretted that now: after all, maybe Severus wouldn't have as vengeful because of it.

"Yes, ehem, we were rowdy teenagers," Sirius said, evidently minutely shamed by his own words.

"You try it!"

"Alright." Albus wondered what name would appear were he to enter Hogwarts and look down at this map. Thankfully they were not on Hogwarts' grounds, and therefore not on the map: there was no telling if it would recognise him as Albus Dumbledore instead of Harry Potter.

"I, Harry James Potter, demand to see your secrets!" he called. It took a moment, but then words appeared on the parchment. Both Albus and Sirius leaned down to get a good look.

 _Prongs has a Prongslet, Prongs has a Prongslet! Use this wisely, apprentice!_

Albus laughed out loud at the message. It was evident that somehow this map held some of the magic and essence of all four Marauders — how else could have a map that had been created almost twenty years ago, prophecy the birth of a son to James Potter?

"Thank you, Sirius. Truly. I shall treasure it always."

"You're welcome, kiddo," Sirius said, ruffling his hair over the table between them. "Now what do you say to tasting your first sip of firewhiskey?"

.

Once they had finished their meal and discussed much of past and future, Sirius and Albus paid their food and exited the eatery. Fresh snow had fallen, and it crunched loudly under their feet. Local children of shop owners cheerfully threw snowballs at each other whilst passers-by attempted to swerve around them.

Around them, people were trying to finish their holiday shopping; although the wizarding world was dramatically less obsessed with the commercialism that came along with Christmas, there was a certain respect and awe for the magical ties that existed between Yule-tide and a wizards' power.

"Do you want to look at the Shrieking Shack?" Sirius asked, ducking as a snowball flew over his head and smashed straight into the shut door of the Three Broomsticks. "Explore it a bit? Try to find some ghosts?" he continued, as though nothing had happened.

Albus chuckled and gestured to him to lead the way. He was, after all, not supposed to know Hogsmeade at all.

It was in that moment, that Fawkes chose to swoop down directly onto Albus' shoulder. He stumbled and almost fell face-forward into the ground. Sirius wasn't so lucky.

"Holy mother of Mer—" he groaned, turning onto his back and clutching his face in pain, having landed on it. "Shit!"

Albus helped him up and only then registered that Sirius had been _that_ surprised to see Fawkes. He supposed that it wasn't every day that one met a phoenix. Especially one as conceited as Fawkes. Said magical creature extended one talon. In it, was clutched a letter. Albus swiftly slipped it into his robe, having recognised Nicolas' penmanship. It wouldn't do for Sirius to find out who he was in correspondence with — and _why_.

"You've got a bloody phoenix!" Sirius cried out. Albus laughed and softly ran his long fingers through Fawkes' plumage.

"I think it's actually the other way round — _he's_ got me."

Sirius gave a burst of laughter that bordered on the hysterical. "That entire meal, and you completely forgot to mention that you have a phoenix?!"

Fawkes gave an insulted squawk.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry," Albus addressed his companion more than Sirius. "His name is Fawkes."

"What, like Dumbledore's pet?" Sirius seemed to think he had said something cocky.

Albus' frown deepened somewhat. Fawkes wasn't his _pet_. He came and left as he wished and was a close friend and consultant. It seemed that his avian friend was thinking along the same line of thought because Albus got a mental image from Fawkes of him pecking Sirius' head like a woodpecker.

"Yes. Fawkes was the companion of the late headmaster. He appeared at my side one day and refused to leave. Now, you were saying — the Shrieking Shack?"

They were wiping off the snow from the cloaks, when Albus felt a stare locked on him. Sirius had already sped off when Albus' gaze met his observers'.

Standing on the other side of the crowded street, directly in front of his own pub, stood an intimidating man. His long beard reached his the middle of his chest; it was lightly specked with snow and would have otherwise been completely grey. The long hair framed his serious and grizzled old face. However, the eyes hat retained that same intensity that Albus had known all his life. Those electric blue eyes were observing him with such an intensity that Albus would have wilted like a flower, had he not met that gaze with equal intensity and power.

Abeforth Dumbledore's intimidating gaze then turned into a softer, somewhat more considering stare and then switched to observe the phoenix. The man gave them both one more long, probing gaze, before he ducked back into his pub. Not a word had been spoken between them, and yet a whole conversation had occurred with one single glance. _Who are you? Why is Fawkes with you? You look like—_

"Hey Harry! Come on, you gotta see this!" Sirius called from the crowd excitedly. A group of people had gathered over a street performer. So shaking his head, Albus made his way towards his godfather… but even as he enjoyed the rest of the day with Sirius, he never was able to shake off the feeling of being watched.

.

 _Dear Albus,_

 _During our last meeting, you_ graciously _gave me the Diadem and I have been, since we last talked, painstakingly attempting to separate the soul from the artefact. I am, as you can imagine, quite hesitant to damage this ancient and sacred masterpiece of spell-casting. It is proving to be an interesting study: Pen actually thinks that we can apply a lot of the theories we're developing to your little scar._

 _It has occurred to me, though, that this Diadem does not feel directly evil. I cannot describe it (Pen calls it the ramblings of an old man — you would know), and yet, instinctually, I understand that the Diadem is not evil. A feeling of modesty and bravery radiates from it. Odd that a horcrux (a generally quite dark concept) exudes such a virtue (the seventh of all seven). However, I have yet to collect enough data to come to a definite conclusion as to what exactly I have observed._

 _As for_ your _problem: I am not quite happy with the initial depend heavily on the star and moon cycles and it could take years to perfectly coordinate the effects of the potion with astrological cycles and the electromagnetic waves in your scar. We have begun brewing this potion, simply because we need to begin as soon as possible. Yet I continue to seek other, quicker ways._

 _Pen sends her love._

 _Godspeed, my friend,_

 _Nicolas._

 _._

Tom Riddle. He had not called himself that for years. He had also been a ghost for years, so perhaps that was one reason for it. Then again, Voldemort had been his preferred name for decades before that… and now, for the sake of his new and legal takeover of the wizarding world, he would have to drop that moniker and become Tom Riddle, gifted orphan half-blood, once more.

He sat in the Malfoy library, examining his fingers with interest; they had regained much of their humanity. Twirling on these fingers, was a golden galleon coin that he had picked up from Lucius' desk. He was testing his muscle and nerve endings, to see how flexible he was becoming in his new body.

Within him, he could feel Harry Potter's unfortunate soul powering the little, feeble, 1/126th of a soul that still belonged to him. It was surprising how much almost unlimited energy one soul could offer. And yet, it was not enough. Harry Potter's soul was almost spent; it had been giving him non-stop energy for months now, rebuilding his body, painstakingly reconstructing his body and mental facilities.

He wondered why and more importantly, _how_ Harry Potter's soul had ended up with him. The boy had died and presumably, the balance out the scales of life and death, his soul had been gravitationally pulled towards the single non-full soul in the word.

Now losing control of the coin, he quickly grabbed hold of it and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. Holding it up at eye-level, he examined the light it reflected in the morning light. Cocking his head to the side, Tom tilted the coin so that a nugget of reflected light appeared on the wall opposite. He had often played this game during his muggle schooling with the watch he had stolen from Billy.

The nugget of gold light jumped from book to book on the far shelf, mimicking the movements he made with the coin. Even from this distance, he could read some of the titles on the spines. Most, in that section had something to do with the law… until…

He paused for a moment and that nugget of gold light stopped at the back of one unmarked leather-bound spine. Pocketing the coin, that pinprick of reflected light disappeared, now having no coin to reflect off. He stalked up to the shelf — as he got closer and closer something in him — that 1/126th of a soul responded to the magic held within that book.

When he reached out with one hand, that feeling intensified. With one long finger, he pulled the book out. Casting a few spells to make sure there weren't any unpleasant surprises in its protection, he turned it over in his hands.

And right there, at the bottom of the back cover, were the three letters that he had spent his whole life hating and regarding as too _normal:_ _TMR_. His hands were trembling now as he turned it back around. He felt a sudden wave of foreign remorse.

It wasn't coming from his soul, rather from the little bit of energy that Harry's soul was still struggling to hold on to. This remorse had been engineered by that dying flicker of energy. It was Harry's dying wish: the remorse. It seemed enough for the Horcrux, because in the next instant, he felt something beyond anything he had ever felt before consume him. An energy so light and bright and young; so idealistic… The soul of his sixteen year-old self, preserved in time!

And when Tom Marvolo Riddle, hours later, awoke, he found half a soul in his chest — his _own_ soul —, Harry's soul consumed completely, and a new feeling of _temperance_ instilled within him.

 _Temperance_ : the first virtue of seven.

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I use this chapter to illustrate various things: 1) Sirius is not fit to be Albus' guardian. Especially because he's sort of like a kid himself. 2) there is much much more to Voldemort's horcruxes than was made clear in the books. 3) this will not be an _Albus/Harry ex machina_ story... because what would be the point of writing and reading such a story? I wish you all a good weekend!


	13. Eccentricity

**I apologise! I always seem to be disappearing... for a few weeks... or months. Rest assured! This story has not been forgotten! I often mull over it during lectures about windows and swear to myself that I will work on it _that_ night... and somehow it never seems to happen. I wrote this on the one Sunday that I chose to simply relax before the real exam-related stress begins. Good luck to everyone heading for exam season! **

**Also kudos to FanFictionNET for the awesome app — I literally wrote this chapter on the app and am uploading it via the app as well! Incredible!**

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Aberforth hated mysteries. He hated uncertainties and above all, he hated riddles. So in turn, he had begun to hate Harry Potter. Yes, yes, he was quite happy and grateful that the boy had somehow managed to get rid of Voldemort, but even he, with his limited magical knowledge understood that more magic than that was at play there. A defenceless little one-year-old could have not, even through an extreme case of accidental magic, accomplished a feat such as that. Not that he was altogether that interested.

And now Potter was at Hogwarts; his lanky figure had begun appearing in Hogsmeade a lot recently. Every time he seemed to be meeting different people. He remembered seeing Sirius Black one time, the rest, however, were all a mystery to him.

He was sure that the boy would have gotten on with Albus like a house on fire. There was something in him, that reminded Aberforth of him. The serious brow line, the merry eyes, that elegant stride... oh and the power. The power that the boy radiated was... alluring. He himself seemed not aware of it, as he innocently licked st his ice-cream (in the middle of winter!) and looked through shop windows, cocking his head every now and then, seemingly considering something. Meanwhile, people passing him, turned, evidently perturbed by the wave of power that crushed against them.

It was on Christmas eve's morning, that Aberforth stood at the bar in his pub, polishing a Bavarian mug, when through the window, he saw the boy walk past. This time, he was carrying a stack of presents. It wasn't like he was remotely interested in the riddle that he presented, by still, maybe he would still watch from a distance and see what happened...

Aberforth shifted slightly, so as to keep the boy in view. He stopped in front of Hogsmead's favourite pub, the three broomsticks, and raised his forearm to look at his watch. He seemed to curse slightly (Aberforth assumed he was late) and began looking around, trying to see if the person he was waiting for, had arrived.

Indeed, moments later, a tall, and equally gangly person strolled into view. He looked to be in his mid or late twenties, but with wizards one could never really tell. Aberforth unwittingly wondered why Harry Potter was meeting with such a man, and when they had had the occasion to meet. After all, it was a well known fact, that Potter had not had any contact with the wizarding world until he had been introduced to it earlier this year.

They exchanged packages — gifts — and greeted each other warmly. Then Potter gestured to the pub he was standing in front of, the other man shook his head and instead jabbed his head at the Hog's Head. Aberforth automatically shifted to his previous position and looked down at the bar so as not to be caught peeking. Moments later, man and boy entered the slightly seedy pub. Potter looked uncertain and his eyes kept shifting from corner to corner, watching the other patrons wearily. He seemed to pointedly ignore Aberforth.

The man confidently stalked up to the counter and placed a galleon in front of Aberforth.

"A finger of Firewhiskey and one glass of Butterbeer. Keep 'em coming."

Aberforth grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and completed the order. The two friends sat not for away from him.

"Thank you for coming Nicolas," Potter began with a smile, taking a sip from his drink. 'Nicholas' downed the shot of firewhiskey. Aberforth swished his wand and the drink was instantly replenished. A spell of his own creation, actually: a vanishing spell of a portion from the nearest bottle of firewhiskey, to a certain shot glass.

"You were always my favourite student," 'Nicolas' replied, amusedly. Aberforth's eyebrows drew together in bemusement. The fact that this man obviously knew of magic told him that Harry Potter had had a teacher before Hogwarts? Was that the reason why the Prophet kept printing articles on his genius — did he simply have an unfair advantage over his fellow pupils? Had Albus organised this before his death? Aberforth wouldn't be surprised.

"Ah — Nicolas, the wards!" Potter's eyes raked the pub suspiciously and eventually met Aberforth's gaze, who had been stupidly gazing at them. He instantly dropped his gaze, and cursed his carelessness. Seconds later the two were hidden behind a wall of wards.

And yet, Aberforth could still watch them. He felt like some sort of stalker, but his curiosity itched at him. He felt a pull to Potter... a strange familial pull. He did not understand it. He didn't want to understand it. Now not having to concentrate on the conversation, he was free to assess their physical attributes: they were to concerned with their 'serious' discussion to pay him any attention, anyway.

'Nicolas' felt familiar to him, like some long lost memory and after digging through his terrible memory for the better part of an hour, he finally managed to place him. Albus' mentor! It _had_ to be Nicolas Flamel! He was quite sure — even if he had only met him once, those eyes were quite unforgettable!

Now what was Nicolas Flamel, renowned alchemist, inventor of the philosophers' Stone, doing with... Harry Potter, a first year student at Hogwarts?

He had just picked up a few glasses and dishes that a patron had left behind, and was passing the pair, when he had the opportunity to glance down at whatever they were writing up. Potter in that moment, had been the one writing (left-handed! Very much like Albus. Merlin, where did the similarities end?). And whatever he had been writing, it looked like gibberish to Aberforth. Formula upon formula, upon diagrams, upon text covered the scroll between them. He could barely make out anything on the paper, due to his own poor vision and a probable blurring ward so that any passers-by such as him did not get the chance to get a good look.

And yet, as he settled behind the counter and dropped the dirty dishes into the washing cupboard, he felt unease creep up on him. What the hell was Potter up to? Was it even Potter? Even Albus, a true genius, had not been that advanced at that age.

He was just turning away from the two famous wizards, when he caught sight of Potter finally reaching for the present he'd been given earlier. Unwrapping it slowly, he seemed to savour every second (very unlike a child his age). Finally, he was down to the last layer and he lifted the lid off of the box. It's depth obstructed Aberforth's view of it. This problem was quickly solved when the boy reached into the box and gently pulled out a very familiar object.

This object had once been Albus Dumbledore's — and he had spent an entire summer, well, that was until Grindelwald showed up, creating this very same fire and light catcher as his first task in his apprenticeship to Nicolas Flamel — the very man sitting in Aberforth's pub.

The Deluminator was shiny and clean. Evidently it had just been polished. At one point, after Albus' death, Aberforth had wondered where his things had gone. The Ministry had sent him most of his brother's belongings (oh the books! all these yeas, and Abeforth still didn't know what to do with them), and some had been plainly missing. But he had never felt the urgent need to pester the Ministry for them. He wasn't even sure what most of these objects were anyway.

At least he'd managed to sneak away with that odd invisibility cloak that never seemed to fade.

He could lip read enough to see Potter give Flamel a heartfelt 'thank you'. It was odd, Aberforth decided, that these two even knew each other… and well enough to gift each other Christmas presents too! Finally, noticing that nothing much was going to happen, Aberforth turned back to his job of polishing the mugs and glasses. Some time later, he chanced a glance upwards and saw the two previously peaceful patrons of his pub arguing.

It was a very civilised argument, mind, not the sort that usually stumbled into a pub such as this. But it was evident from the tense shoulders, drawn eyebrows, and gesticulating arms, that they were in some sort of a dispute. Flamel kept gesturing towards Abeforth, using no tact at all while Potter's eyes remained pointedly fixed on Flamel's, not daring a look towards the Dumbledore.

Albus, was experiencing a similar emotional turmoil.

He could feel Abeforth's magic buzzing proudly in the air of the pub and he wanted so much just to reach out with his own: to brush it against his brother's… just to feel even a small glimmer of his past life. But he didn't dare: Aberforth had been shooting him odd stares ever since he and Nicolas had entered the Hog's Head.

"You _have_ to talk to Aberforth," Nicolas said forcibly. Albus' eyebrows drew together.

"I do _not_ , Nicolas: I am tired of people around me dying. If Voldemort just knew a glimmer… if it got back to him… or if he figured it out that Harry Potter is no more, then Hell would rain down upon us. With no Dumbledore in this world to keep him away from Hogwarts, he remains only fearful of me. I cannot tell my friends. Don't you see, I'm trying to keep them safe!"

"Bullshit," Nicolas spat out harshly. Albus was briefly surprised at his choice of language. The man was, after all, usually very refined in his tastes of style. "That's the most cliche'd nonsense I've ever heard you say! You are extraordinary, Albus. You've _never_ resorted to _that_ sort of cliche. Yes, you've omitted truths from certain people in your last life and this life, and most of time your excuse is that you want to serve the greater good and you only want the best from all these people. But you know what? This is all about you staying at the top: you staying the smartest person in the room.

"You don't need to constantly affirm yourself of that: you _know_ your are the smartest person in the room. Merlin! Everyone at Hogwarts now believes Harry Potter is a child prodigy! And all because you want to be at the top, you want to manipulate people to do what you want and when you want it.

"You have friends, Albus. Your only family too — who die a little inside every day, when they are reminded of your death. God knows I cried when Minerva told me you had died. Do you know what a joy it was to see you again? To talk to you?"

Albus' eyes dropped to the table and he suddenly found the centuries-old wood much more interesting. Merlin knew where Aberforth had found such a piece of furniture. He felt chastised: no one had spoken to him in this way in years, decades. And the worst part, was that Nicolas was right.

"Now, as a _fucking_ (Nicolas was on a definite roll now) Christmas present, you'll go up to Minerva's office and confess who the fuck you are. Then you're going to tell your best friend Elphias Dodge, and then your bloody brother. Once you have done all that, you will tell Harry Potter's godfather who his godson really is. And you're going to _trust_ these people not to spill the guts — no unbreakable vows. Understood."

"I'm not… _him_ anymore, Nicolas," Albus replied somewhat weakly. The alchemist gave a long-suffering sigh.

"You may be some twenty years older, but at that age, it doesn't really matter much anymore — trust me."

"Nicolas—" Albus tried.

"Yes, Al, I know. I understand. But for once you have to try not be be egocentric and think of how incredibly at peace these people, your friends and your only remaining family, will be once you tell them."

"Very well," Albus said, feeling a nervous tremor pass through him. "But allow me to choose when and how." He was well-aware that Aberforth was merely a few metres away from him.

Nicolas examined him, eyes narrowed. They both knew Albus had left a loophole for himself. "Fine. But today is Minerva's turn."

Albus gave a long sigh and finally nodded, closing his eyes as he prepared himself psychologically and emotionally.

"Good. Now that we have dealt with that, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Albus took a moment more to recover from their short row and then pulled an old piece of tattered parchment from his cloak. The Marauder's Map. Upon giving the proper enchantment and watching the ink spread out throughout the map, Nicolas gasped. Himself, an inventor, this sort of thing fascinated him to no end.

"Extraordinary!"

"Harry Potter's father, and his three friends created this in their fourth year. Brilliant spell-casting," Albus said, admiring the map anew.

Nicolas whistled. "How did you come by this?"

"Sirius gave it to me during our first meeting."

"Ah," Nicolas glanced down at the map as his eyes followed a pacing Minerva McGonagall. It seemed he had discovered the problem thew now had.

"Yes, _ah._ When I am in Hogwarts territory, my name appears on the map, but not as Harry Potter: the map registers me as Albus Dumbledore."

"And Sirius would have definitely checked the map before giving it to you," Nicolas continued.

Albus gave a meek smile. "So Sirius knows that I am not who I am saying I am. And he knows that somehow someone must have tricked the map into thinking that Albus Dumbledore is still alive. Which begs the question: why give me the map, and why show me so much trust?"

"Ah, Albus, you're forgetting one thing," Nicolas said with a coy smile. "Sirius was raised by Slytherins. He knows how to think like one. He knows you are not who you say you are — at least Azkaban has taught him not to be the hothead he once was. He's holding his cards close to his chest this time around."

"Alas, I have you to count on," Albus murmured. Nicolas gave him an odd look. Something told Albus that something was not quite right.

"Ah, Albus. Pen and I have been talking…"

Albus' heart dropped and he knew instantly what Nicolas was talking about.

"We have gotten much from out time on this plane… And with that latest attempted robbery, it has become clear to us that the philosopher's stone is only a danger to humanity. It has given us some extra time, but has destroyed the lives of many."

"No, no, Nicolas, you mustn't!"

"I'm afraid, dear old friend, we have made enough elixir batches to last us enough time to make your potion and save you from the Horcrux within and then we'll… ah, let Death take over. He's been chasing us long enough."

Severus winced as his mind slowly regained awareness. He grimaced as he realised he had forgotten to close the shutters the night before. Cracking one eye open, he winced when the sharp sunlight forced his pupils to contract unnaturally quickly.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed. Being a disciplined man, everything that was done out of schedule or out of order caused major disarray to his day. In the making of yesterday's potion for a valued customer, he had absentmindedly dropped porcupine quills into a potion cooking at two and three halfs. Needless to say, he had spent the night repairing his potions room in the basement.

Finally forcing his body to an upright position, he wriggled his toes and then grabbed his morning robe. He trudged downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a black English tea and a small sandwich. After he'd checked the mail that had come in the muggle way (nothing but bills, thankfully), he read a few articles from potions today—

 _Holy mother of Merlin—_

Severus grabbed hold of his Daily Prophet and stared at it in shock. He had been ignoring it for the past few months, too busy in the mornings to read the rubbish that they published there. And yet, this one time he had somehow managed to catch the headline in the corner of his eye:

 _Sirius Black Freed of All Charges! ….And Godfather to Potter?_

 _On the 31st of October, exactly a decade after Sirius Black was accused of having murdered Peter Pettigrew and a further twelve muggles, new evidence came to light that Black was wrongly incarcerated without a trial. Newly-found letters from Albus Dumbledore to an undisclosed friend revealed hidden secrets, thusly freeing Black of all charges. He walks free today as he is discharged from St. Mungo's, almost two months after his release from Azkaban. This reporter has been very excited to find a new juicy piece of information. A source very close to Mr. Potter and Mr. Black has revealed that the latter is godfather to the former!_

The article went on to discuss various theories, each one barmier than the last. However, Severus was not particularly interested in that. Instead, his eyes latched on to the two portrait pictures that had been laid out side by side. One was of a haunted-looking Black, the other of Harry Potter.

It was unmistakable that that was the Potter boy: the snapshot had been taken at what was obviously a welcoming feast at the beginning of the school year. Harry was sitting next to a pudgy boy and was eagerly listening to another girl talk. He had leaned forwards in massive interest and the sleeves of his robe were almost dipping into his gravy sauce. In fact, those robes….

Severus' eyes bulged slightly. Harry Potter, a Hufflepuff? Oh how James Potter would be turning in his grave!

The boy looked happy, and well fed. He was lean and tall, in comparison to his peers. There was an intelligent spark in his eye that bespoke of constant alertness and curiosity. The very same eyes of Lily Evans.

Knowing Dumbledore, Severus bet the boy had been left at Petunia Dursley's doorstep — so the question was, how in the world did Harry… not look maltreated? Severus was almost too intrigued: he was not the boy's teacher, nor did he have any familial relation to him… so why did that look in his eye look so bloody familiar?

He was mulling on this, when there came a very sudden ringing sound — someone was trying to floo-call his watch, Severus cursed. He was very behind on his daily schedule. An unwanted visitor would only push it back.

Trudging out of bed, he donned a morning gown and descended to the ground floor where he was momentarily surprised at seeing who had come to call at his home.

Lucius Malfoy's head popped out of the charcoal, eyeing him with interest. They had not seen each other for at least six or seven years.

"Severus." Even by that one word, Severus was surprised to note something urgent and fearful in the other man's voice.

"Lucius. You are well?"

"There's no time for pleasantries, Severus — may I come through?"

Severus mulled over this for a split-second. He had enough protections in place… if he tried anything… Fingering his wand in his robe pocket for a moment, to reassure himself that it was there, he nodded. He tapped the fireplace once, and it turned green, allowing the Malfoy lord to come through.

They grasped shoulders as a form of greeting. Not quite a hug, but also not simply a business-handshake.

"Dear Lord," Severus gasped once his gaze had examined Lucius more closely. The man was white as a sheet (clashing terribly with his blond head) and slightly more haphazardly dressed than usually.

"He's back," Lucius said in a gravely tone. His knees seemed a bit weak as he stumbled ungracefully towards the living room. He collapsed into an armchair. Severus instantly summoned a calming potion which Lucius gulped down with a grateful, yet weak, smile.

" _He_?" Severus had instantly known the moment Lucius spoke, who he meant and he felt his heart dropping. Surely not…

"The Dark Lord, he's back, Severus."

Lucius, in one, rash movement, dragged the cloak and unbuttoned cuff of his shirt upwards and exposed his forearm to Severus. And right there, staring back at them was a charcoal black image of a snake, rather gruesomely, escaping the mouth of a skull.

Severus, in a reflex, pulled up the sleeve that covered his own forearm. Instinctively, he raised a wall of occlumency to shield himself from the oncoming wall of emotion as he stared down at his own forearm. It had been clear for ten years…

"How long?" He asked. He hadn't seen that tattoo last night when he had showered before bed — had the Dark Lord only just come back, or had he just recently reactivated the link between himself and his Death-Eaters?

"A month, he has been back a month."

"And he has not summoned us yet?" Severus asked sceptically. Lucius shook his head.

"He has not. I have been sent to, ah, round up the willing," he said after a moment.

"And what with the unwilling?"

"They are to be marginalised."

"Ah." So it was join, or be killed. Gruesomely. If not, Lucius would have said 'killed'.

"Shall I collect my mask?" Severus stood up from his own armchair, expecting an affirmative. But Lucius shook his head.

"There will be no more cloaks and daggers this time," Lucius straightened up in his own armchair. "He… has decided to take down the Ministry from within."

A chill ran through Severus. The Dark Lord was going to organise a legal take-over. The thought of this sounded somehow much more chilling and threatening than the alternative: a full out war. However, with little prompting, his occlumency shields rose to their maximum. Physically he seemed to almost alter as his expression became neutral and his body stopped shaking. He placed his hands behind his back and straightened his back, staring ahead with stony determination. It was time to choose a master once and for all: did he serve magic and it's balance, or the Dark Lord?

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 **Well, well, well. :) *wink***

 **On a side note: Every now and then anonymous reviewers write messages I do not understand the content of. Please explain?**

 **Guest (1):** What's the point? It would be more entertaining than this.

 **Is that a critique of the story? Or a critique of life in general? Or my life? Or your life? I'm confussssseeeeeddddd**


	14. Epiphany

**I confess, I'm on holiday and I could be writing more than currently appears on my laptop. However, recently, I had the pleasure to begin reading Dostoyevsky's novels. I'm obsessed. Reading books by that master of literature, philosophy, and psychology has given me a new perspective on writing and what novels and in general, literature, should deliver. I shall continue this story as I had planned for it to continue. But I feel that any new story that I write in the future must have a deeper, more sensible meaning than all the superfluous things I have written until now (let's face it, _everything_ ). But if in spite of this, you continue reading the story, many thanks to you! **

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"Your shirt is un-tucked!" The mirror in the first year, boys' Hufflepuff dorm room exclaimed. Albus, who had been about to exit the bathroom, walked backwards a few steps and blushed faintly when he noticed, that yes, his shirt was untucked. It was Christmas morning and it was the day that Albus would be telling Minerva who he was. He, at least, wanted to look somewhat presentable before she cursed him to Hell and back.

He had chosen a dark blue cloak with a matching wool vest and a grey shirt. But if one squinted and looked closely enough, one would notice that every few minutes, tiny fireworks exploded in the fabric of the cloth of his cloak and socks. A small Christmas detail. Neville would call it tacky. Albus would say he didn't care.

"Much better! Now off you go! Presents await!" the mirror exclaimed. Albus smiled at it and bowed his head in thanks.

"Merry Christmas, Sabetha," he said to it. The mirror's gold frame seemed to give a little twinkle.

Albus chuckled to himself and exited the dorm room. Jonathan, the only other Hufflepuff to stay at Hogwarts during the holidays was already in the common room when Albus strolled into it. He was tearing into his presents.

"Morning, sleep well?" Jonathan asked. He was munching on some unfortunate chocolate frog that he had received from an admirer.

"Merry Christmas," Albus said nodding. The boy shrugged and repeated the holiday greetings in a bored and practiced sort of way. Albus almost frowned. How could one be so gloomy on such a celebration as Christmas? Christmas was meant to be celebrated with family, with music and sweets, with love!

He quickly turned to his own presents, eager not to have to concentrate on the paradox of his own situation… he was not home for Christmas! In a selfish move, he had decided to allow himself to simply roam Hogwarts without having to go to classes and coming and going when he wished.

His eyes however, dropped onto the discarded Chocolate Frog Card. His own image stared back at him.

"Oh yeah, I got Dumbledore. Again. I have at least seven of him. Do you want him?" Jonathan said as he stuffed the last limb of the frog into his mouth.

"Ah, I would be delighted to have him," Albus said, accepting the card. His own reflection stared back at him with narrowed eyes, before finally giving a smile. He remembered very well the day he had been photographed for this card. Composing the text for the back of the card had been the proudest day of his life.

Pocketing his card, he dove into the presents.

Petunia and Dudley had chipped in together to get him a collection of selected plays by Oscar Wilde with incredible illustrations that rivalled etchings of the likes of Rembrandt or Dürer. He set that aside to read for later. Next was a present from Neville and Hermione, with whom had become fast friends over the last few weeks. They had gifted him a thick book on transfiguration in the Middle Ages.

The rest were mainly chocolates and sweets from the various people he had managed to befriend in the last three months. Even Draco sent him a card! From Hagrid he received a small, round cake that both Jonathan and Albus didn't dare try (eventually, he _did_ nibble on it a little). They had breakfast in the common room and eventually established a rapport: Jonathan was quite interested in transfiguration.

At some point, the elves had (unnoticed) turned on the radio and it was playing something christmassy, with quidditch updates alternating with the music. Jonathan was elated when he heard that the Chudley Cannons had managed to get to the quarter finals — something that happened only every few centuries.

It had just stopped snowing and hours had passed, when Albus rose and excused himself. He was so deeply immersed in his thoughts that he hardly noticed his feet taking him to the Headmaster's - Headmistress's - office. He sighed, preparing himself. This was going to be an emotionally turbulent afternoon, but he had promised Nicolas he would resolve it all today. He glanced down at the present in his hands. It was poorly packaged, and yet, he felt that Minerva would appreciate it.

Coughing, Albus called out to the gargoyle.

"May I go up?" the gargoyle stared stonily ahead (pun fully intended). He sighed.

"I would like to talk to Headmistress McGonagall."

Minerva must have had some sort of microphone spell on the gargoyle and could probably hear Albus because she seemed to tell him to jump aside, because he did so and allowed Albus to pass. He ascended the staircase in silence and took another preparatory breath. Then he pushed open the double doors.

Minerva sat behind her desk, looking down at a stack of papers. If there was one thing that Albus didn't miss about being Headmaster, then it was the paperwork.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Merry Christmas," she said in her usual levelled way. However, there was a small smile pulling at her lips.

Albus approached her desk and sat down in one of the two proffered armchairs.

"Merry Christmas, professor." Albus paused. He had actually rehearsed his speech, but now that he sat before her, he found himself lost for words.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" She prompted kindly.

"Ah, I brought you a gift," he said, placing the wrapped package on her desk. She blinked at him in surprise.

"How kind," she said without moving. Then seeing that he was going to wait until she unwrapped it, she reached forwards and grasped it. Unwrapping the paper, she turned the frame around and gasped when she saw the photograph within.

Inside lay a photograph of her and Albus — as Albus Dumbledore — in the 1950s when she was in her 20s and already a professor at Hogwarts, and he, the recently named Headmaster of Hogwarts. That night, Minerva, Nicolas, and he had all been at the Ministry Annual Summer Solstice party, when Minerva had called it dull, prompting Nicolas to usher them out into the unknown world of muggle parties. All three of them had danced all night long. Nicolas had bought a muggle camera somewhere on the way and had spent the next few drunken hours delighting over muggle technology and how far it had come.

That night, she had told him she fancied him and he had been forced to tell her that he had and would only ever love one person in all his life and that person now sat in Nurmengard. She had been stupefied for a while and had then accepted it without a fight. That had symbolised the beginning of their fast and long-lasting friendship.

The photograph was blurry, partially because of Nicolas' drunkenness and their movement whilst dancing the fox-trot: their faces weren't exactly focused, but they were obviously smiling.

Her hair was down and she was wearing an elegant dress. He was dressed in a muggle tuxedo, but had untied his bow tie, now that formality was no longer required. It was a bittersweet, warm photograph, that caused Minerva's chest explode with a pang of sorrow and melancholy.

"Dear Merlin," she gasped. Then composed herself. "However did you get this, Mr. Potter?!"

His cloak used that moment to shower his shoulders with a small shower of fireworks which then sunk back into the fabric of the cloth. He almost cracked a smile. She did not.

"On the 22nd of November 1986, Albus Dumbledore died," Albus began. Her eyebrows drew together and she leaned back in her chair, evidently realising that this explanation would take some time. "The Albus Dumbledore of this world died. I, however, woke up at that exact date, that exact time, in the body of Harry Potter. It took some time for my magical core to develop and my mind to adjust, but unkowning of what had happened or how I could revert it, I decided to make most of the situation. I saved the Dursleys from Vernon — a vile man, rightly predicted by you. And I tutored Dudley to become an upstanding, young man. I have attempted to stay away from friends in my past life, but this has become impossible. I cannot bare a second longer of seeing you, Minerva, in pain."

Minerva seemed, too, lost for words. She blinked at him. He could see emotions, ranging from anger to hatred to love, racing behind her eyes. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, making the connections between his pattern of speech, the present, the characteristics, etc.

"Albus…" she finally whispered, squinting at him. Albus inclined his head and smiled kindly, eyes twinkling.

"Nicolas told me my first order of business should be to apologise: so dear Minerva, I apologise. I have been harsh, and misleading. And so, so selfish. "

The portrait of Dumbledore behind Minerva was staring at Albus with wide eyes, evidently not having expected the confession. And were he fifteen years younger, Albus probably wouldn't have. But that night on the Astronomy Tower with Severus, Harry, and the Death-Eaters, had given him some perspective.

The portraits hanging on the walls were all exchanging incredulous glances and even Phineas Black, who usually always had some sort of comeback ready at his lips, seemed stupefied in his frame: the colour had drained from his face, pun fully intended.

"You have hurt many of us," she told him in that controlled voice that told Albus she was anything but. "You have begotten much pain." She folded her hands upon the desk, and stared him down. Albus' eyes instantly dropped in shame. He stared at his lap.

"I have no excuse, Minerva."

He heard some shuffling, and when he looked up again, she was standing before him. In one swift movement, she drew him into a hug, gripping him so tightly that he almost forgot to breathe.

"You are forgiven," Minerva said softly. Albus kept a tight hold on her. When they finally separated, he noticed that she looked at peace. She stared down at him with an unreadable expression; and yet the corners of her lips were turned upwards and her serious eyebrows were more relaxed than was usual for her. The lines of old-age suddenly didn't seem so deep.

"Please sit, Albus," she murmured and sat down in the armchair next to his, not her usual place behind her desk.

He dropped to his plush chair and turned to her.

"Now Albus, tell me everything."

And he did; he omitted a few things from his childhood as Harry Potter, and left out some of his more nihilistic conversations with Nicolas. When he told her that Voldemort was most probably back, she closed her eyes and briefly tilted her head up to the heavens as though to give a small prayer. Then she composed herself and folded her hands on the table.

"We must reinstate the Order of the Phoenix," she said quietly. Albus nodded somewhat solemnly.

"Kingsley and Alastor must be informed immediately, they were among the founding members and will know how to direct the rest."

"You will not attempt to regain your position as—"

"Minerva, to the world I am an eleven year-old Harry Potter: a gifted student, but a student nonetheless. I do not have the power or authority to lead the Order. I'm afraid it must be you, after all, you were my most trusted and gifted student." He smiled at her and her lips faintly quirked upwards.

"So you do not wish to inform the others," she said. Minerva rested her chin on her hands.

"Aberforth and Elphias will be told in due course, but no, my identity must remain a secret. It is best if the knowledge of my true person is not brought back to Voldemort for he… oh, he will do such despicable things, Minerva."

"There is the matter of your appearance as a student—"

"Ah, Minerva, it is Christmas, must we talk of such tedious topics? Shall we visit the kitchens? I think the elves will be delighted to serve us some hot cocoa." There was a long pause and he considered her, she looked as pale as the snowflakes that fell behind the window and her nostrils were flaring. Her hands gripped her armchair with such force that her knuckles were white. The shock, he supposed. His gaze shifted to the liquor cabinet a few paces away. "Ah, or perhaps something stronger."

.

Albus drew his winter coat closer to himself, the material scratched against his chin. It was cold outside, various degrees below the freezing point of water certainly, but he barely felt any of it. A permanent smile seemed to be etched into his face this day. Minerva's face kept swimming to the forefront of his mind; how relieved he had felt when he had confessed everything, _everything_ , to her. Even the horcruxes. And in any case, it was Christmas!

Ducking into a café — the very same that Minerva had picked him up at when shopping for supplies — he instantly began sweating from the heat. Alas, there were almost three fireplaces roaring with fire!

A hand at the very back waved him over and he rapidly made his way to it.

"Merry Christmas!" Neville exclaimed as Albus sat down across him.

"Hello Harry, merry Christmas," Hermione said shyly, cheeks blushing as she glanced up at her. He winced, he would have to tell her at some point that he fancied the other sort.

"Merry Christmas, all," Albus called. He received various calls from the others sitting at the table: a colourful mixture of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Slytherins.

"We weren't sure McGonagall would let you come today," Seamus said with a shrug. "So most of us sent you your present by owl."

Indeed, the table was covered with gifts. They had probably just been in the process of exchanging them.

"Thanks for the _Mimbulus mimbletonia,_ Harry!" Neville exclaimed. "I've already planted her!"

"You're very welcome, dear friend."

"Oh, look, Draco's arrived!" Hermione was looking over Albus' shoulder and when he turned he saw Draco Malfoy standing uncertainly at the door of the café. His gaze awkwardly swept the crowd until it latched on the first year group.

"Happy Yuletide," Draco said in a very refined tone when he had stopped in front of their table. Albus pulled up a chair for him. The boy sat down and stared at them. Chatter between the first years continued as though nothing at all had happened. They had gotten used to Draco's presence amongst them in the past few weeks.

They had a very pleasant Christmas lunch; even Draco had loosened up by the end of it, having seen his two housemates Blaise and Theodore joke around with students from all houses, without a care in the world.

Albus had wanted to go to Knockturn Alley for some time now and discover the more obscure bookstores there. He hadn't quite had a chance yet. So nodding politely to everyone, he put on his coat and decided to excuse himself.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked. Albus was putting on his mittens (self-knitted!) when he turned his attention to the Malfoy boy.

"Ah, in search of books. Alas, Hogwarts has an extensive collection, yet not enough for my thirst for knowledge."

"Do you mind if I come with you?"

Albus considered him for a moment. Knockturn Alley wasn't the safest of places, but the boy certainly knew the place better than Albus. He'd only entered it a handful of times when in dire need of some object that the Ministry considered to be in the 'dark' spectrum and he more or less in the 'grey'.

"Of course not, come along then!"

They exited the cafe, red cheeks a stark contrast against the cold and snowy exterior. He considered charming his breath purple; actually that would bring a whole set of problems, where magical theory was concerned - he was knocked out from his trail of thought when a sudden crashing sound ricocheted down the narrow alleyway.

"Oh my Gods," Draco cried, pulling Albus back by his cloak. _Oh my Gods, indeed_ , thought Albus. Horror infused him as his vision was engulfed with flames; blasts went off all around him so deafening that he very literally lost his hearing for a few moments. When he finally came to reason, he spun, dragging Draco with him into the nearest alcove.

A battle. A battle right in the middle of Diagon Alley. Albus leaned against the wall of the alcove and briefly closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was to come. When he opened them, Draco was staring at him with panic. There was indescribable fear staring back at him and for a moment Albus was sure that his own face mirrored the Malfoy's countenance.

"Potter, _Potter_? _Harry_?" Draco sounded lost. Albus gathered himself together and mentally brought up his occlumency walls. He had to protect the boy that stood before him. The innocent, ignorant boy.

"We do not have much time, Draco. You must promise me you will stay in this alcove."

"You're not going out _there_?" the boy gestured at the battlefield that almost drowned out their conversation. "There are a-aurors for this!"

"Draco, do you _see_ any aurors?"

Indeed, just as he said that, there came a loud scream; Draco instantly looked for the source and Albus forcibly used his magic to make Draco look away.

"Look at me — do you swear to do exactly as I tell you?"

He knew the moment that Draco's eyes widened with intimidation, and not from the slaughter that was occurring in the Alley, but from Albus' expression and tone, that he had inadvertently exposed a portion of his true identity. Nevertheless, the boy gulped and nodded. Albus had a sudden flashback to the last time he had said those exact words, just before he and Harry had left for the cave on the island. He had died shortly thereafter.

A sudden shadow dimmed the already lacklustre lighting in the alcove. Both Albus and Draco looked up: standing in front of them was an intimidating figure, dressed completely in black flowing robes, darker than the night. A hood disguised the shape of the head and covering the face was a metal mask.

It was almost instinctual for Albus to cast a banishing spell. The man was thrown into the other side of the alleyway, crashing into the building opposite. He fell to the ground like rag doll and didn't move again.

This seemed to draw the attention of the other combating Death Eaters, who had pushed further into the alley, resulting in a dilemma: Albus and Draco now stood directly behind them, in their rear flank, and more of them were turning around to face Albus.

Albus wasn't prone to cursing and yet—

" _Bollocks_."

"Potter, what the hell are you do-"

Albus used a violent bit of magic to press Draco back into the alcove. He wouldn't be able to stand against the five or six Death-Eaters who had just raised their wands to battle him, if he was simultaneously trying to protect Draco.

He saw now, that the last three months he had spent at Hogwarts, practicing his magic and expanding his knowledge daily, relearning all the spells he had known at some point, had paid off. Because as the first three spells were sent his way, he was able to cast a massive _protego_ , effectively protecting the crowd of people behind him, all attempting to either flee the Alley or hide away in the numerous shops, most of which were already packed full with people, or simply due to the activated magical wards, completely closed off.

Albus felt sweat break out on his forehead as he held his wand with both hands.

" _Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum,_ " he kept whispering over and over again, point his wand directly at the Death-Eaters. It was straining his magical core and he was feeling the negative effects of it.

Spells clashed against this shield, each and every one of them dissipating. As more and more Death-Eaters got frustrated with not being able to cross or defeat the shield that was currently allowing so many patrons of the Alley to flee to safety, more and more joined the few that had begun to attack him.

Soon, it was a whole hoard of them.

Albus felt himself beginning to waver. Had he been in his old body, at the height of power, he could have easily defeated all twenty or thirty of them and yet, his eleven-year old body and core were still underdeveloped to handle this sort of massive amount of energy.

He saw Draco peeking out from the alcove and then staring at him with wide, reverent eyes. Albus sent a burst of magic at him, pushing him back into the alcove. This time, the boy stayed there.

It was well into the seventh minute of keeping this up, when Albus felt all anti-apparition wards in this part of the alley drop. In an instant, several men and women dressed in brown robes apparated right at his side. Aurors. Among them were a few scarlet-robed and hooded figures, signifying that the unspeakables had decided to chip in as well.

It was just as well, because in the very next moment, Albus felt his magical core give out. His vision gained more and more black spots, until he surrendered to the blackness completely. He was aware just enough to feel himself be caught by someone and then—

* * *

 **Dun... Dun... Dun...**

 **(Thank you so much to the anonymous reviewers or people who didn't sign in - you are incredible!)**


	15. Deliverance

**Rereading this story the other day, I noticed that in my very first A/N on the very first chapter, I commented that updates would be sporadic as I was gearing up to my finals and would be graduating school soon. That was more than a year ago. Now I'm gearing up for my second year at university... simply incredible (how does time flow so quickly?!). So, many thanks to those who have stuck with this story and with me as I go on this journey with Albus and co.!**

* * *

Sirius paused for a moment as he looked at the grim, old building that stood before him (pun intended). Outwardly, it had changed quite a bit. The white lettering and accentuation on the window-sills had dulled to a dirty grey, and the previously coal black bricks had turned an ugly mud-colour. The whole house looked as disused as Hogwarts did to muggles.

The last time he had been here was when he ran off from home at sixteen; he ran all the way to the Potters, who welcomed him with open arms. He had sworn never to come back to this place. However, the Ministry hadn't yet cleared his monetary compensation for wrongful imprisonment and his Gringotts vaults wouldn't be freed until he was reinstated as a legal citizen. So Grimmauld place it was.

Ratty suitcase in hand (which held some bare necessities he had managed to get together from a few second hand shops), he ascended the short staircase to the white, or rather, grey door at the front. This house, being a magical one, did not require a key. Hoping that his mother hadn't burnt him out of the wards too, he placed his hand against the keyhole-less space under the handle.

Luckily the wards recognised him as the Head of the House of Black and he was let through. Pushing the door open, he hesitantly took his first step. The only light in the entire hallway was the winter rays of sun that streamed in from behind him. On the floor he could see his own elongated shadow… among the spiderwebs, dead bugs, and scuttling rats.

"Rats. Delightful," he remarked to himself.

"Traitor is back?" came a sudden croaking voice. Sirius jumped in shock and moments later, a limping figure emerged from the dark.

"Kreacher," Sirius said grimly. The elf was still alive. The elf that had brought him so much grief in his childhood.

Their frosty reunion summarised Sirius' entire disposition to this place. He brushed past the elf and into the dark kitchen, which felt so damp and disgusting it made him wonder what the hell Kreacher had been doing all these years. Here, he deposited his leather case on the long wooden table. This had been where the servants had once upon a time prepared meals before bringing them into the lavish dining room. In the distant past of the Black family, when Elf-ownership had become unfashionable in pureblood society circles, muggles had been employed, or rather, enslaved. They had then worked and lived in such squalid rooms as this.

Kreacher trailed in after him, muttering something to himself. Sirius decided not to give him more attention than he was worth.

He spent the next few minutes looking around the cupboards, in search for edible food that Kreacher, maybe, possibly, by chance, kept. Nothing. He was reaching for the last cupboard under the water dispenser, not unlike a muggle sink, when he heard a sound behind him. Kreacher, who had been watching his every move, now launched forwards.

"Master!"

Sirius brushed him off, pulling the cupboard open. Instantly the stench caused him to wrinkle his nose. A makeshift bed lay there, evidently the place where Kreacher slept. Such squalor, he thought, moving to close the cupboard door, when something with a metallic shine caught his interest. Nestled between the pillow and mattress, was a piece of jewellery.

"Well, hello there," he murmured. Kreacher was just recovering from having being pushed to the ground and launched himself at Sirius, intent on getting the locket back into his hands. The Black heir frowned at him and stood up, locket securely clenched in his hand.

On its face was an ornately decorated green 'S'. It hung on a chain which Sirius wrapped around his fingers. He let the locket fall from his hand and watched it dangle on the chain before he fixed his attention on Kreacher.

"Tell me, Kreacher, what is this? Leave nothing out."

.

 _He felt though he had been submerged into a tank of several metric tonnes of water — that entire pressure seemed to be resting on his mind and shoulders. The voices around him were muffed, as though he were wearing really, really thick ear-muffs. He blushed at the thought of the strikingly pink ones he had owned in his other life._

 _Slowly, Albus allowed his eyes to open, blinking hurriedly to get the tiredness out. He squinted into the distance as his vision got gradually better. It became then, radically clear that he was certainly not waking up to the physical world. No, he was in a sort of memory:_

 _He saw himself, as Albus Dumbledore, at about nine or ten years of age. He was in the garden in the house in Godric's Hollow where he had lived with his family before his father had been taken away to Azkaban for attacking those three muggles. It was a time before Ariana had begun suffering those intense seizures, before she had been psychologically marred and scarred by her treatment of non-magicals. Before she had become an Obscurus._

 _Albus, the young boy of his memory, sat in a corner of the garden, legs crossed as he examined the object on his lap: it was a wooden sword that he had managed to carve with his own magic. He was in fact still working on it, transfiguring it with intent alone. Both Albuses watched with fascination as a crooked inscription appeared on the hilt:_ For Aberforth Dumbledore, love Albus.

 _This caused Albus' throat to clench up with emotion. He had forgotten that this had also been a time before his fame, when Aberforth had loved him with all his heart, much like Dudley now did. They had not fought then, and speaking of fights…_

 _Aberforth ran out of the house, closely followed by their father, who came out with a book. He propped himself against a tree and began to read, eyes intermittently jumping up to lovingly look at his boys. "Al! Father told me you were outside!"_

 _All of a sudden, Albus remembered this particular memory. It had been Aberforth's birthday, the last one that they had celebrated in peace. The very next year their father would be taken away and Ariana would forever be marred and nothing would ever be the same. Albus could remember that he had left the house early that morning to put some finishing touches on his present for Abeforth. Yes, now looking around, Albus noted that it was late morning. Aberforth must've just woken up._

 _"_ _Happy birthday, little brother," Albus said lovingly, pulling said brother into an embrace. Aberforth protested, but eventually gave up and patted him on the back a few times. Then reaching from behind his back, Albus withdrew the sword. He knelt down on one knee, bowed his head, and presented the sword to Aberforth._

 _"_ _My knight, Sir Aberforth Dumbledore," he said dramatically. The boy stared at the present with shock before letting out a loud squeal of delight. Albus got back on his feet and laughed merrily when his brother grabbed the hilt and began swinging it around with exuberance._

 _"_ _Well come on, then, where's your sword," Aberforth had turned around and was grinning as he settled on a fencing position. Albus grabbed a stick from the ground, also adopting a neutral fencing stance, then eyebrow rising, he gave his brother a small smirk._

 _"_ _Engarde!"_

 _._

Albus winced as he came to: the sharp smell of antiseptic spells and bright light of hospital rooms didn't quite agree with him. His eyes slowly flustered open, gaining focus as he did so. Looking around, he quickly assessed the room. There was only one other person in the room with him, another boy, about eight or ten years of age. He had an odd haircut and red eyes from crying. His right leg was missing. On his bedside table stood a bottle of _Skelegrow,_ a medicinal liquid designed to, as the name said, grow bones. The boy was sleeping, but his face was contorted into a visage of pain.

Evidently, some change in Albus' breathing or heartbeat must have alerted some sort of ward because very suddenly, a mediwitch came running into the room. She was very quiet in the way she went about her business.

"Good afternoon, Mr Potter," she said kindly in a very quiet tone so as not to wake Albus' roommate. He smiled kindly at her, but was unable to muster very much more than a simple 'good afternoon'. His magical core was severely depleted, he could tell at once; whilst muggles required much to keep them going, wizards required less of it, and depended more on magic. As such they could go more days without eating, sleeping. It was also their magical core that allowed them to live longer lives.

Depleting one's core often meant severe exhaustion and in some cases where older patients were concerned, almost certain death.

"Mr. Potter," the woman said. Albus glanced up at the sound of his voice being called and realised that he'd been lost in his thoughts. The mediwitch was staring at him expectantly.

"Forgive me, my mind strayed," he said quickly. She nodded understandingly and after she had checked his vitals using various spells that Albus didn't fully recognise, she pulled up a chair.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Yes, the Death Eaters attacked Diagon Alley," he paused, then cocked his head to the side, surprised at his own very raspy voice. "How long have I been here?"

She pursed her lips. "Two weeks, Mr. Potter. Now, do you remember what you did once they attacked?"

"I cast an amalgamation of _Protego_ _Maxima_ , _Fianto_ _Duri_ , and _Repello_ _Inimicum_ against the Death Eaters."

"That was a very brave thing to do, Harry," the woman said. She took a deep breath. "You understand that those spells are very powerful. An eleven-year old's core should not have even been able to cast them."

Albus smiled again, this time weakly. He felt weak, but not enough not to be able to speak or smile. This witch needed to think he was in a more terrible state than he actually was. She was correct, there was no way a child his supposed age, should have been able to cast spells such as that, let alone with as much power. And if he could have, he would have been recovering for a much longer time than Albus seemed to need.

This was starting to feel too much like an an interrogation to him so he yawned in a very child-like manner. Tiredly looking up at the nurse. He was indeed exhausted. And yet, over-exaggerating his tiredness and would only help him project a somewhat more childish and innocent persona. Hopefully his actions in the Alley would be written off as those of a magical prodigy.

"I saw the spell in a textbook," Albus said. He pretended another yawn. "I taught it to myself." Actually there was no way to find amalgamations of spells in textbooks. Such seamless fusions of spells could only be cast by wizards who truly knew magic to it's core. Not that a medi-witch would know this.

The nurse opened her mouth to speak further — interrogate him — in a rather unprofessional way. Albus yawned again. He knew he was pushing his luck and perhaps taking the manipulation somewhat too far.

The nurse seemed to buy it and she bowed her head in slight disappointment. She then put on a smile and patted him on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, Harry. Your assigned mediwitch will examine you when you're stronger."

The next time the door opened, only a short while later, a very worried Petunia and Dudley practically ran in.

"Oh my God, oh my God, Harry!" Petunia rushed to his side, pulling up a chair to sit next to his bed. He was roused from his sleep when Dudley actually sat down on his right leg.

"Ooof," Albus said ineloquently before his face split into a genuine, if somewhat pained, smile.

"Sorry," Dudley said, entirely unashamed as he pulled away and sat down next to him on the bed.

"What happened? The doctors-"

"Medi-wizards, mum," Dudley interrupted with a grin.

"The medi-wizards told us you had a… magical exhaustion?"

Albus pushed himself upright and readjusted his glasses. He felt waxy, tired. "Magical exhaustion occurs when a wizard uses an enormous amount of magic. As opposed to a non-magic user, our souls and our very beings are powered by a magical core within ourselves. Like a generator or a muscle it has to be trained and used. Preferably taken care of. I made the unfortunate mistake of over-stressing it when attempting spells that are quite above my level." He was succinct and to the point as ever — when explaining a concept anyway.

Petunia still looked lost but she nodded. "We were told… there was an attack and you protected…" she trailed off, uncertain of how to proceed.

"Indeed. Draco my friend and I were cornered by Death Eaters, loyal supporters of the Dark Lord Voldemort. I had to protect us, and ideally, help the people attempting to flee the Alley."

"Harry…" she looked lost for words. Her hands overlapped his. "B-but the nurse said there are policemen for this sort of thing!"

Albus licked his lips and sat up somewhat straighter. Dudley jumped off of his bed and wandered over to the other patient in Albus' hospital room. The other boy was now awake and was reading the newest edition of some or other quidditch magazine. A loud conversation over the superior sport (football or quidditch) filled the room.

"There are. The elite task-force known as Aurors could not break through the wards that the opposition had placed, delaying them by mere minutes."

Petunia's eyes brightened in recognition at the term. "Your father was one, I remember my sister saying," she exclaimed. Albus nodded indulgently.

"So he was."

The door burst open again, this time a tall man followed by several medi-witches who were protesting his 'breaking' and entering.

"Sir—"

"Mr. Feuer you are not allowed—"

"Restricted—"

"Nicolas!" Albus exclaimed, elated to see his friend. The alchemist kept brushing off the medi-witches, grinning as he approached the patient.

"You know this man, Mr. Potter?" the medi-witch that had attended to Albus earlier asked. Albus smiled at her kindly.

"Yes, a friend of mine, everything is quite alright." With that dismissal, the three medi-witches distrustfully exited the room. Albus shook hands with Nicolas eagerly whilst Petunia stared at the two of them, presumably musing over their odd friendship. An eleven-year-old, and what appeared to be a mid-twenty to thirty-year-old?

"Petunia, this is my good friend Nicolas Flamel, a french alchemist with whom I have been corresponding for some time," Albus said smiling. The two shook hands. "Nicolas, Petunia Dursley, my aunt." Petunia didn't seem to quite understand their friendship, but accepted it nonetheless, after some probing of course. She wouldn't be a responsible aunt or mother without a rigorous interrogation.

"I came the moment I heard, Al-Harry. The _Daily_ _Prophet_ was quite quick to report on the attack," he smirked slightly. From his breast pocket he withdrew a folded copy of that morning's paper which Nicolas passed to Albus. He winced at the headline and article.

 **"** _Potter Strikes Again,_ " Albus read aloud. "Christmas Day, Mr. Potter was enjoying his lunch with Hogwarts friends when disaster struck. Wizards, dressed as the much-feared Death-Eaters appeared to attack Diagon Alley— what a load of tosh!" Albus exclaimed. "It _was_ a Death-Eater's attack, not some fictitious heroic tale!" He put he paper aside, noticing only then that Dudley had decided to join them once more. The boy picked up the paper and stared with fascination as the pictures moved, gaze only finally growing still when his eyes rested upon Albus in the photograph.

Depicted in it was Albus repeatedly casting the same three spells in succession, creating a visible barrier of wispy-like smoke into which all the Death Eater's spells vanished and were dispersed into nothingness. Behind him, people — wizards, witches, children, muggle parents — were fleeing the alley, and if not that, disappearing into shops whose wards instantly sprung up. The photograph had been taken from above, leading Albus to wonder whether someone had willingly jumped onto a broomstick, _just to take a damn photograph of him?_

"Whoa, _Harry_ ," Dudley sounded stunned as he said that. Apparently, he had only just realised what sort of awesome power Albus commanded.

" _Whoa_ , indeed," Nicolas said, smiling at the boy.

"No! No, no, no no! This isn't something to celebrate! Harry, you shouldn't even be in a position where you have to make the choice to protect your classmates!" Petunia was shaking her head viciously, and it occurred to Albus that she must've too, only now realised, the scale of the attack. Her eyebrows drew together. "I knew this school would only bring trouble… That Eton scholarship is still on the table, you know. They wrote—"

"No, Petunia," his tone was cold and brutal. Something very unlike him. He softened instantly and placed his warm hand upon her thin, bony one that was resting on his knee. "I shall stay at Hogwarts." He said it with such finality that Petunia seemed reluctant to even try to argue against this decision. Nicolas was regarding him with a small frown, unused to such assertiveness within Albus; he was usually more eager to see events play out than straightaway interfere.

Nicolas cleared his throat loudly, attempting to diffuse the tension in the room. He smiled kindly at Petunia and Dudley. "Why don't I show you two Diagon Alley. Harry'll be here when you get back, I'm sure of it (that sounded like a threat to Albus). He'll be most likely discharged within a day or two… you can have dinner together tonight. I'm sure the hospital will be able to facilitate that. But for now, he must concentrate on his recovery."

Petunia harrumphed, but eventually (after interrogating Albus a little more about Hogwarts and his studies and friends), she acquiesced. Once the room was cleared, Albus let out a short breath of relief. Glancing over to the boy staying in the same room as him, it suddenly registered with Albus that he hadn't even cared to ask what his name was. No matter, the boy was asleep again, and his leg was looking decidedly more whole than it had been mere hours ago.

Someone had stacked in a neat pile the get well letters he had received, amongst them also bags of sweets (mostly sherbet lemons) that his friends had managed to sneak in, as he knew that it was against St. Mungo's policy for external food to come into the hospital diet. He eagerly dug in, reading a copy of the Quibbler as he did so. Eventually, he fell asleep again.

.

 _This time he knew he was not awake. And yet, this was an odd sort of dream, Albus mused to himself, because it certainly was not a memory, and his mind was certainly not as creative when it came to dreams. And yet, there he stood, in the middle of a manor hall: it was beautiful, if a little run down._

 _He wandered around the various rooms, examining everything with muted interest. Why was he here? What sort of dream was this. Eventually, after he had been looking around for some time, he realised that he could hear voiced from somewhere within the building. Up the imperial staircase he went (all marble, he remarked), until he emerged into a large hall evidently meant for ballroom dancing._

 _It was about the size of a quidditch pitch, with a ceiling which rivalled that of Hogwarts. Paintings and mirrors adorned each wall, all dusty and uncleaned… and decidedly_ muggle. _There was absolutely nothing wizarding about this manor, he suddenly realised. He was in a muggle manor. As his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, he realised in an instant what was happening, for he was looking directly into the red eyes of the Dark Lord Voldemort._

 _The Death Eaters had brought in a large table, enough to seat twenty or so people, and it was currently fully occupied by cowering figures. At a small distance, other Death-Eaters, not part of the inner-circle stood to attention, all with their head's bowed, and faces maskless. Albus let out more than a few gasps as he caught glances of more than a few people that he knew, some well, others less. Regardless of the fact, he had always thought them to be good people, honourable._

 _Clenching his jaw, he approached the table, to hear what was being said. It was evident that he was somehow able to tap into Tom Riddle's mind through the Horcrux-Link that they shared. It was then he noticed that his occlumency walls were down, apparently his magical core was more exhausted than he had thought, if it was unable to even hold that last line of defence._

 _He gulped as he realised the implications of this meeting. Tom was back. He was_ back _. Physically back. Whatever advantage Albus had had with his renewed life was now over. Tom had caught up._

 _Nothing was being said at the table. Nothing at all, and yet there was an oppressive silence hanging over them. Albus could feel Tom's magic literally pressing down on all of them, pushing all of the Death Eaters into submission. And it was odd, his magic wasn't as dark as it had been when Albus had known him later in life. He seemed fuller. Could it be possible that he had absorbed some of his horcruxes? He certainly seemed more humane and less snake-like._

 _He looked like a thirty year-old Tom Riddle, like a sort of version of Dorian Gray. Yet, his eyes betrayed his true nature. They were red as Hellfire and hateful as the Devil._

 _"_ _How dare you," he spoke finally, voice deceptively neutral and soft. The Death-Eaters leaned in, so as to hear him, he spoke that quietly. Footsteps echoed across the marble floor as another person joined them. It was then that Albus noticed that the chair to the right of Tom was unoccupied. To the right of him, sat the silver-haired Lucius Malfoy._

 _"_ _Forgive me, my Lord," Severus Snape spoke as he approached Voldemort. His head, too, was bowed. Tom pursed his lips._

 _"_ _Sit, Snape." Severus did so. "I shall deal with you later." A shiver ran down Albus' spine, fearful of what would happen to Severus._ Oh my Gods, _he_ _thought_ , he had sent Severus into _this,_ every time the man had gone behind enemy lines to spy for him?

 _"_ _You were summoned three weeks ago to celebrate my rebirth and you mark it by disobeying_ ME _?" Tom's tone steadily hardened and became more disgusted. Lucius Malfoy was trembling next to him._

 _"_ _A full-scale attack on Diagon Alley…" Tom said slowly, eying all of his followers with incredulous disgust, as though he honestly considered them completely beneath his attention._

 _"_ _My Lord," began one Death Eater at the table, who Albus recognised as an employee of the Unspeakables. By the Gods, they were infiltrated too?! "Malfoy led us into battle, t-t-to celebrate your return. We wanted to make a s-s-statement."_

 _Tom turned to him with a most unreadable expression. He cocked his head to the side and stared at the unspeakable with such intensity, that the man actually began to sink deeper into his chair._

 _"_ _You shall make a statement when I wish to make a statement, is this clear?" There were quick nods all around the room. Everyone was bobbing their heads in a comical sort of way, yet Albus didn't dare to laugh. The Dark Lord stood up, silk-like robes billowing around him dramatically. He began stalking, much like a panther or some sort of predator, around his inner circle._

 _"_ _We lost last time, this is undisputed. We attempted a revolution from without." Voldemort clenched his hand in anger. The back of Nott's chair split into two. "It is time to attempt the same from_ within _."_

 _As he said this,Voldemort's eyes turned to the rest of the Death Eaters from the lower echelons. Albus knew that his eyes had fixed on a man standing directly behind him and that he was invisible in this vision, and yet, he shuddered as that blazing crimson gaze settled on 'him'. It was easy, in that moment to tell why the Death Eaters around him cowered in such fear, for that same fear had taken a hold of his soul._

 _._

He awoke several hours later in such a panic, and now back in the Hogwarts' infirmary wing, that Madame Pomfrey was forced to give him a calming potion, such was his plight.

* * *

 **I hope to communicate the higher stakes with this chapter. It's taken me some time to find a proper direction for this story and a lot of writing. I mean, it's about 60k long now, and not much has happened. This has resulted in a lot of readers simply reading this story. As opposed to the 30-50.000 people reading it at the beginning, there's only about 600 of you now. I don't obsess over statistics any longer, but it is still a little discouraging to see that people seem to be giving up on this story. I love writing it though, so I won't be disappearing any time soon. :) In fact, it is my favourite story (that I am writing/have written) so far, so even if only three of you read it, towards the end, I shall continue it. Thank you to all who have stuck with it up until now. You are all incredible (just alone for reading my mad ramblings!)**


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